The Shadow Proves the Sunshine
by JamesLuver
Summary: Started out as speculation, BUT NOW CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR SERIES FOUR. Anna and John's life together is pushed to the limit by the arrival of the charming Mr. Green, who turns out to be anything but. When the unthinkable happens and they are left to deal with the consequences, can they ever be happy again?
1. Lovers' Eyes

**A/N:** Series four speculation ahead.

I've been harbouring the idea for this ever since we learned about Mr. Green. I wasn't sure if I should write it, but then I did. So yeah, the initial idea came from the talk about him starting off charming and then suddenly not being quite so charming after all, and I built this around it. It also incorporates the darker side of Bates later on. I know nothing like this will happen (at least I hope not!), but it's been an interesting challenge.

I know **BloodyMaryPrayer** wrote a story that had a similar premise, and even though mine will differ quite a lot, it made me more reluctant to post mine. However, I did contact her and she was very gracious about it. So thank you for that.

**Warnings: Don't let the fluffy beginning chapters fool you. This story will get darker. There will be some horrible situations arising, which I hope that I can handle sensitively. I don't want to spoil the plotline, so if you have any concerns about whether this is something that you can read, please get in touch and I will answer your queries privately.**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Downton Abbey_.

* * *

_The Shadow Proves the Sunshine_

_1. Lovers' Eyes_

It promises to be a big day up at Downton Abbey. For the first time since Mr. Matthew's death, the house is hosting guests. It is something that Lady Mary had confessed to Anna that she has been dreading, but she's put on a steel mask for everyone else; only her lady's maid has been privy to the turmoil and the agony that she is feeling about such an occasion.

"_I don't want to move on just yet,"_ she'd said just the other night, looking so young as she'd hunched over in her nightgown, a rare vulnerability tearing down her defences entirely. _"I'm not ready."_

Anna's heart had gone out to her mistress, and she'd put a comforting arm around her shoulder. Lady Mary had leant against her, something that she'd never done before. Anna had understood exactly how she'd felt. If John's death sentence hadn't been commuted, then she doesn't know how she would have coped. Despite his begging, she knows that she would never have moved on from him. She can only imagine the torture that Lady Mary is going through, and little Master George will grow up never meeting the fine young man who would have been a wonderful father.

But the visit has been arranged by Lady Grantham, evidently thinking that it will help bring some colour to her pallid daughter's cheeks, and Lady Mary has not fought against the decision, already exhausted from pushing people away for so long.

Now, in dawn's first light, Anna fidgets in the bed that she shares with her husband, grumbling groggily as she feels his hand pass up and down her front, stopping just shy of her breasts in a most teasing fashion.

"John," she warns grumpily. "You'd better have a very good reason for waking me."

Behind her, John laughs throatily, burying his nose in her messy hair. "I'm sorry, love. I couldn't resist. You look beautiful."

"Oh yes, I'm sure I do," she gripes, pressing her back more firmly against his chest, feeling the hairs tickling her.

"You _do_," he reiterates, moving his mouth to shower her shoulders and neck with kisses. "Even if your hair looks like it got caught in a bush."

"And who's doing is that?" she shoots back, wriggling out of his arms and rolling onto her side to face him.

He smiles at her easily, his eyes crinkling. His own hair is mussed from her eager hands. Those strands that she loves fall over his right eye, and she pushes them away tenderly, only for them to fall stubbornly back into place. They make him look boyish, and it sets her heart racing. Gently, she leans forward to kiss him, and his hand span against her hip as he responds. Eventually, she pulls away from him, placing one last kiss against his top lip before sighing.

"Come on, then," she says. "We might as well start our day."

"I thought we were about to," he replies huskily, pawing at her waist pointedly.

She fixes him with a look, a shadow of a smile playing about the corners of her mouth. "Mr. Bates, behave yourself."

"You make it very difficult to," he says, leaning forward to kiss her again. She keeps him at bay with her hands on his shoulders.

"Mr. Bates," she warns reprovingly. "We can't afford to be late today. Mr. Carson will have us lynched."

He huffs boyishly, an expression that does absolutely nothing to abate her desire to simply let him have his way with her, but she keeps her resolve strong and slips out of bed. John shuffles up into an upright position, letting the sheets pool around his waist, exposing his broad, hairy chest to the morning cold of the room. Anna tries not to glance at him too often as she moves around the room to collect her clothes, purposefully taking her time. She smirks to herself when she feels his heated gaze all over her naked body.

"Later, then?" he asks, his voice low and scratchy with desire.

She turns around, taking him in in all of his natural glory, from his mussed hair to his long legs. The sight of him like that will never fail to affect her.

"Oh, most definitely," she says thickly, before physically shaking her head to relieve herself of the pleasant buzzing that had manifested itself there.

John slides out of bed, running a hand through his hair as he pads around the room to gather his clothes together. He slips on his underpants while she fastens her corset, then offers to help her. She lets him despite her reservations, and he nuzzles himself against her neck when he's finished, breathing in the scent of her skin.

"I love you, you know," he murmurs.

"Yes, I know," she smiled, leaning back into his touch and shivering internally at the tickle of his hairy chest.

"And now look at us," he says. "It's getting on for two years since I was released from prison."

"Don't," she sighs. "I'd rather not think about that time." She's done her best to block out the memories of the endless nights and the endless tears that she'd cried under the cover of darkness, the only time that it felt right to let down her guard and collapse under the pressure of it all. Their life now is all that she wants to focus on.

"I'm sorry," he says, then kisses her cheek, squeezing his arms around her waist.

"There's no need to apologise. Let's just keep looking forward. I've never been as happy as I am now."

"And things can only get better from here," he declares confidently, and she turns to kiss him properly then, fingers smoothing through his hair.

His words should have been the first warning sign.


	2. Welcome

**Guest 1** – I understand you completely. I hate to read angst, but sometimes I can't resist. It doesn't help that these two have put us through so much angst either! I'm glad you think I do it well. I hope I don't disappoint now! It's definitely fun to think of potential plotlines. I'm sure that I'll be nowhere near the mark (though I've twisted the slightly new spoilers to fit!).

**Toddy** – I hope that it lives up to your expectations, even if you are nervous!

**Guest 2** – Flirty Anna and Bates is one of my favourite things ever. We need more of it, period. (And I don't think anyone can complain about John in the nude!) And you're right to have faith in the two of them, of course. :)

**Guest 3** – Haha, I hope that we _do _get Baby Bates and cottage shenanigans, though! ;) And yes, they certainly can deliver it in spades! No matter what comes in series four, I know BC and JF will be flawless.

**Guest 4** – Then you'll be glad to know that I hope to update every Sunday and Wednesday. :) I hope that it meets your expectations!

**Amy** – Sorry for making you nervous! Here, have some more happiness to make up for it (just don't get too used to it!)

Thank you all for reviewing. :)

* * *

_2. Welcome_

They stand in a long line, watching the car sweep up the majestic driveway. The family is clustered around the great front doors. Lady Mary's face is blank, devoid of any emotion. Anna shivers at the expression.

She herself is standing between Miss Baxter, Miss O'Brien's replacement, and the new head housemaid, just one space away from her husband. He gives her a sideways glance down the line, his face impassive but his eyes questioning. How she loves him. He always knows exactly when she needed some reassurance.

The car rolls to a stop outside the abbey. They stay quiet while the pleasantries are exchanged. Lady Mary doesn't seem the slightest bit interested in Lord Gillingham's condolences, accepting them without a word. Anna can tell from Lady Grantham's body language that she thinks her eldest daughter is being rude, but she herself can't find fault; why would she want to be thrown at other men when she is still grieving the loss of the love of her life?

Lord Gillingham's valet hovers silently behind them, carrying his employer's bags. His gaze wanders lazily down the line of servants. Anna feels the maids shifting beside her, visibly intrigued by his good looks. He flashes them a smile, obviously conscious of what would be deemed appropriate, before his eyes meet hers. His smile widens just a fraction, but she keeps her face impassive.

At last, the family are ready to go back inside. The servants stay in place long enough for Thomas to close the front doors behind them, before they turn to traipse back through the servants' entrance. Anna watches as Mr. Carson moves forward to take care of the new valet, then turns to fall into step beside her husband as they walk back inside. When his fingers brush just barely against her wrist, a smile blooms on her face.

"I've got a few errands to run this afternoon," he says lowly, keeping his eyes trained straight ahead. "Is there anything you want me to pick up from the village?"

She shakes her head. "No, the cottage is fine for now."

"I suppose I'll see you later, then."

She glances around quickly. They've fallen behind the others, and Mr. Carson and the new valet are still nowhere in sight. Quickly, she leans up on her tiptoes to press a kiss against his cheek.

"You certainly will," she says. "I'll be waiting in the servants' hall for you."

He returns her kiss with a little more lingering, then flicks open his pocket watch.

"Eleven hours," he says in a low rumbling, and she flushes as she realises just what he is counting down to.

"Mr. Bates!" she scolds. "Be off with you."

He huffs, pretending to be annoyed, and she shakes her head as she watches him limp away, wondering what kind of carnal creature she's married.

Still, the smile stays as she skips back down to the sewing that she'd abandoned earlier.

* * *

She's been sitting with her sewing for almost an hour when Mr. Carson and the new valet finally put in an appearance. She rises at once, along with the other few who are also taking a break.

"This is Mr. Green," announces Mr. Carson.

Anna smiles at him, and he smiles right back, displaying a row of white, even teeth. She hears the maids shuffling beside her, and knows that they are blushing. The smile makes Mr. Green even more handsome. Not that Anna herself is particularly enamoured with it. She's learned that breathtakingly handsome men with the movie star good looks are just not her type. She smiles more broadly at the thought of exactly who _is_ her type.

"Hello," he says to the room. He has a nice voice, deep and cultivated, which cuts a stark contrast to the Yorkshire brogue.

None of the tittering maids seem inclined to take the lead, so it falls to Anna to move forward and offer her hand.

"Hello," she returns. "I'm Anna. I hope you'll enjoy your stay here at Downton."

He takes her hand, shaking it gently, his large fingers closing around hers. "I'm sure I will."

Mr. Carson clears his throat, and Mr. Green drops her hand, turning to greet the others. Anna watches as the maids blush their way through their introductions, batting their eyelashes bashfully.

"Don't you have some work to do?" Mr. Carson rumbles, picking up on the atmosphere and obviously disapproving of the maids' behaviour. "I'm quite sure that Mrs. Hughes asked you to go over the library, and neither of us will be pleased if the standards of this house are compromised over laziness."

The girls pale and dart out of the room at once, almost running to complete their tasks. Mr. Carson looks pleased with himself, excusing himself to check on the wine order. This leaves Anna and Mr. Green alone. Anna sinks back into her seat, picking up her sewing again. Mr. Green doesn't seem inclined to leave, instead taking the seat across from her and settling back into it casually.

"How did you find the journey here?" she asks conversationally, pulling her needle tight through the material that she is sewing.

Mr. Green smiles easily at her. "Quite nice, actually. There's not much to see but hills and fields, but it was peaceful."

"Not much of a country person, then?"

"I've spent my entire life growing up in London. I think after the hustle and bustle of the city, any country place is dull by comparison."

"I think I'd be quite the opposite. I'm not sure that I could live in a big city after spending my life out here in the country. I can't imagine the sky being covered by smog."

"I'm sure a person like you could adapt anywhere."

Anna starts a little at his bold comment. She shoots him a look over her sewing, but he only gives her that warm, friendly smile. She relaxes a little.

"So, you're Lady Mary's lady's maid?" he asks, changing tact.

"Yes, that's right."

"How long have you done that for?"

"Well, I was officially promoted about eighteen months ago, but I dressed all three of the girls for years before that."

"I see. What's Lady Mary like?"

Anna shuffles her mending, and Mr. Green holds his hands up with a chuckle.

"All right, all right," he says. "I'll admit defeat. That topic's out of bounds."

She smiles. "Thank you. There are lots of other things that we can talk about."

"You're right. Let's start with a little more about you."

Anna drops her sewing, shocked. "Excuse me?"

"Don't worry, I'm not about to go asking for all of your most personal secrets. I just like to make a point of getting to know the people that I'll be working with for a while. Moving around a lot doesn't often give me the chance to bond with people."

"I suppose that makes sense," she says, though a little less certainly than before.

There is silence for a few minutes while Anna resumes her sewing and Mr. Green drums his fingers on the servants' hall table, glancing around the room with interest.

"This house has some strange customs, you know," he says.

"Oh?" says Anna, not looking up from her sewing. "What kind of strange customs are they?"

Mr. Green's chair scrapes across the floor as he draws closer to the table. "Well, they still call you Anna, for one thing."

Anna does look up at this, a half-smile playing across her face. "I can't say I mind too much, Mr. Green. I've been Anna for so long now, I think it would be strange to be anything different."

"I still think downgrading any lady's maid or valet is wrong. I should hate to be known by my first name again. I know most people would."

Anna shrugs lightly. "I don't feel downgraded by it. Far from it."

"Well, I shall endeavour to call you by your surname while I'm here."

"Then _you'll_ look the odd one," she laughs, shaking her head. "Honestly, Mr. Green, Anna is fine."

"No, no. You deserve proper respect. Tell me, what _is_ your surname?"

She rolls her eyes playfully, still grinning. "Oh, all right then. It's Bates."

"Pretty name, Miss Bates."

"Oh, no," she rectifies quickly, a little disconcerted by his opening comment. "It's _Mrs._ Bates, actually."

Mr. Green's eyebrows rise in surprise. _"Mrs.?"_

"Yes, that's right," she says, twiddling pointedly with her wedding ring.

"Forgive me, I didn't see."

"That's all right."

"Though you seem far too young to be married. What are you, twenty-three?"

"An awfully forward statement, Mr. Green, considering that you've only just arrived." She tries to keep her tone light, not wanting to sound too harsh, but firm enough to know that it doesn't sit well with her. Evidently, he gets the message.

"No, please don't mistake me. I'm afraid it's just in my nature to speak so openly."

A regular heartbreaker, she thinks. "Very well, Mr. Green. But please try to refrain in the future – even if it is your nature." She tries to end on a teasing note to take the sting out of her words.

"I will, I promise. And I really do apologise, Anna."

He really does look so awkward and contrite that she can't stay vexed with him. Instead, she encourages him to speak about some of the places that he's travelled with Lord Gillingham to. He seems to come alive in such moments, animating his tales with sweeping gestures and exaggerated tones. His eyes dance boyishly as he recounts the things that he's seen, and she can't help but like him. His way of speaking unsettles her a little – she's spent her life around John, after all, who had spent most of their years restraining himself from saying too much – but at the same time it is rather refreshing. He holds no interest for her in the slightest, but she suspects that the younger women in the house will be completely enamoured with his way of presenting himself.

"So, how do you and your husband manage?" he asks at last, helping himself to a biscuit that Daisy had placed their only a few minutes earlier. "It's unusual to have a married woman still working."

"Oh, we manage just fine. My husband works here with me, as it happens."

"What? Mr. Bates works _here_?"

"Yes, that's right. He's his lordship's valet. I think that's part of the reason why I'm still Anna. If we were Bates and Bates, we might get a little confused!"

He smiles slightly at her joke, taking a sip of his tea. "It's getting more unusual by the moment. You don't find many married servants around."

"I know. But it works quite well for everyone, and we're very happy with the arrangement."

"So where is this illustrious Mr. Bates?"

"He's popped into town on some errands. He'll be here soon."

"Who will be here soon?"

At the sound of her husband's voice, Anna leaps to her feet, grinning widely. John is standing in the doorway, leaning heavily on his cane and cocking a questioning eyebrow at her. She rounds the table, beckoning him forward.

"I was talking about you," she informs him. "This is Lord Gillingham's valet, Mr. Green. Mr. Green, this is his lordship's valet, Mr. Bates."

"A pleasure to meet you," says John, though his eyes are dark and watchful.

"The pleasure is all mine," returns Mr. Green, his own expression more guarded. "Anna was just telling me about your unusual circumstances."

"Unusual?" comments John lightly. "I wouldn't say so."

"Would you like a cup of tea?" asks Anna, sensing that something isn't quite right.

"Please," says John, hanging his cane over the back of the chair and settling himself down.

Mr. Green stays silent through the exchange, his gaze darting between the two of them. Anna takes no notice of him, too busy steeping the tea.

"I know you said not to pick anything up in town," says John when she's finished, "but I saw this and couldn't resist."

He slides a bound volume of Wordsworth's poetry towards her, and she picks it up.

"Oh, it's beautiful," she beams, though there is a little niggling in the back of her mind. It isn't unusual for John to come back with something for her, whether it's a new set of hairpins or something for the home, but he has always waited until they are in the privacy of their cottage before presenting it to her.

"I'm glad you like it," he replies, brushing his fingers over hers – something else that he always refrains from doing in the house. Now Anna is more suspicious than ever, but she chooses to keep her thoughts to herself, not wishing to embarrass him in front of the other valet. So she simply tucks the book away out of sight and then gathers her mending together.

"I'd better take this back upstairs," she says. "Tea will be soon, and I don't want to spill anything on it. It was nice speaking to you, Mr. Green."

"And you, Anna," he says, shooting her that winning smile again. She felt John stiffen beside her, but he doesn't do anything, merely lifts his cup and downs his tea.

It doesn't occur to her that Mr. Green has gone back to calling her Anna despite his earlier assertions until she reaches the storage area. She shrugs internally. What a strange man he is.

* * *

The rest of the day passes quickly enough, and soon Anna and John are back in their cottage, ready to begin what remains of their evening together. They've had dinner up at Downton, as is customary, so there is no need to waste time on eating. Anna hopes that John's mood will improve now that he is home; he'd spent the afternoon in a surly sulk, and had barely spoken at all during dinner. Anna isn't sure what's bothering him, since he'd started the day in such a high spirits.

She reflects on this now as she changes out of her dress, sighing in relief as she loosens her corset. He is over at the other side of the room, placing his tie and collar on her dresser for safe keeping, the first few buttons on his shirt open. He is still frowning a little. Anna knows that she should be irritated by his mood when there doesn't appear to be any cause for it, but at the same time there is something alluring about the set of his jaw and the furrow of his brow. It makes him look all dark and tortured, like the heroes in the books she reads. In fairness, John _has_ had a rather tortured life.

She sidles up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her lips against his shoulder blades.

"Come on," she murmurs, making sure to brush her mouth against him as she speaks, something that she knows he likes. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Who says anything's wrong?" he says, folding his waistcoat a little too aggressively.

Her fingers lazily begin to open the buttons that he's not reached yet, careful to touch the hairs that spout everywhere. "Well, your face expression, for one thing. You look as if you've been told that you're being docked a month's wages."

"It's nothing."

"It's _something_," she retorts. "Now, come on. You know that I won't let it drop until you tell me."

He chuckles weakly at that, turning in her arms. She is relieved to see that the scowl has melted away. She leans up and he accepts the kiss that she presses against his mouth, tightening his hold on her.

"I was being stupid," he says.

She runs her hands through his hair, hoping that the pomade will brush out soon. "In what way?"

He looks sheepish now, and it piques her interest further. "I just…I'm not sure that I'm so keen on that Green fellow."

"Mr. Green?" says Anna, nonplussed. "Why? He seems perfectly reasonable to me."

"He seems perfectly reasonable to all of the women," John mutters, pulling away from her to retrieve his pyjamas.

"Wait a moment," says Anna, a wicked smile blooming on her face. "Are you trying to tell me that you're _jealous _of him!?"

"Not jealous," he protests. "I just think he's a cad. The kind to sweet talk a woman into getting what he wants, and then leaving her heartbroken when he's done it."

"You're jealous!" Anna repeats brightly. "But…why?"

John sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not jealous, not really. I am, however, being completely irrational."

"How do you mean?" asks Anna, sliding the pins out of her hair and taking down her bun. She moves to seat herself in front of the mirror, brushing out the kinks.

John shuffles. "I just…I saw the two of you talking and laughing together today, and it reminded me that you could have had the pick of any man you wanted, and instead you ended up with an old cripple."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Anna exclaims, swinging round in her chair. "I thought we'd moved past this! How many times do I have to tell you that I don't think you're old _or_ a cripple? I love you because of everything, not in spite of something."

"I told you I was being stupid," he offers meekly. "We're each other's now. People know that I'm yours and you're mine, and they leave you alone. I suppose it was more difficult because I've never had to deal with other people looking at you like that before."

Anna huffs. "Like what, exactly?"

"You must know what I mean. Green is obviously keen on you."

"He is not," she snorts. "He was being friendly and nothing more. Honestly, men. They see no wrong when they flirt with pretty women, but as soon as their own gets flirted with, there's all hell to pay."

"Since when have I ever flirted with anybody else?" he protests. "I've not even noticed another woman since I laid eyes on you."

She turns back around to hide her grin, forgetting that he can see her through the mirror. "Well, irrationality or jealousy, you're being silly."

"What can I say? I'm a man. Our egos bruise easily. And we need our bruised egos soothing every once in a while."

"And I suppose I'll have to be content with that," she says, and her smirk broadens. "Actually, I think I've got a wonderful way of soothing your ego."

"Oh, really?" he says, though she knows he is only feigning innocence. There is a decidedly immoral glint in his eyes.

"Yes," she purrs, slipping out of her undergarments. She doesn't bother reaching for her nightgown, standing before him in absolutely nothing, letting the flickering oil lamps cast maddening shadows across her body.

John is utterly captivated, pausing dumbly with his trousers round his ankles. She moves towards him purposefully, catching hold of his limp hand. She places it on her shoulder, then slides it lower. He groans audibly at the feel of her skin.

"You said that you didn't like Mr. Green looking at me because I'm yours," she breathes. "Well, here's your reminder that I _am_, no matter who may or may not be flirting with me. Just think, Mr. Bates, no one will ever see me like this. Just you."

His gaze is locked with hers now as she begins to back them up. He stumbles in his trousers, and she fights hard against the urge to giggle as he almost falls over, cursing and ruining the moment. She waits until he's kicked them from his feet before continuing, pulling him towards the bed.

"I'm yours, Mr. Bates," she reiterates, pulling him down with her when she reaches it. John's hands claw frantically at his undershirt, throwing it blindly into one of the corners of the room.

"And I'm yours," he proclaims desperately, lavishing the side of her face in sweet kisses. "Always, Anna. Until the last breath leaves my body."

She silences him then with her mouth, and soon all thoughts of Mr. Green are driven clean out of their minds.

* * *

Afterwards, they lay curled on their sides, the sheets cast clean from their bodies. John's front is pressed tightly against Anna's back. Their hands are entwined, and John's thumb caresses her wedding band idly, the only mark of their unity that people can see. He is busy lavishing her neck and shoulders in feather-light kisses that are carrying her through the afterglow wonderfully. She hums in the back of her throat, stretching like a contented cat.

"See?" she says. "Yours, John. There will never be anyone else."


	3. Figured You Out

**Guest –** Yes, there is some foreshadowing here. I very much hope that I won't disappoint you!

**Guest 2 –** I think I can put your mind at ease there. :) (Loving the hashtag, by the way!)

**Guest 3 –** Well, fingers crossed that he will have a change of heart. We know that they will be happy at the beginning, so hopefully they'll get happiness at the end too. :). I suppose I'm not the best person to judge whether I'm dealing with the realities well or not, but it's certainly a very challenging story to write. I hope that I can deliver the angst/H/C that I've promised (you've got me worried now! :P).

Thank you all for reviewing!

* * *

_3. Figured You Out_

"Hello, Anna."

Anna looks up at the sound of Mr. Green's voice and smiles. She's gotten used to the other valet being around during the day. He often brings his work down into the servants' hall, though she sometimes privately wonders how much work a visiting valet could have away from home. Still, he is pleasant company.

"Hello, Mr. Green," she says. She notices that he is carrying something in his hands. "What's that?"

He takes the seat beside her – the one that John should be occupying – and pushes it towards her. She shifts away from him just slightly, then picks it up. A volume of love poetry.

"Oh," she says, her voice catching in her throat. "You're reading this, are you?"

Mr. Green dips his head, a boyish grin overtaking his face. "Actually, I brought it for you."

"What?" says Anna. She feels cold, suddenly. Like an icy finger has just trailed down her spine.

Mr. Green shifts closer to her – too close. His leg grazes hers. "Well, you said last week that you'd always enjoyed love poetry. I happened to have this volume with me, and I thought you might like to keep it. There might be some pieces in there that you've never read before."

Anna swallows hard against the lump in her throat, managing to speak at last. "Well…thank you."

"You'll have to let me know when you've had time to read it. We can discuss some of the pieces."

Anna pushes herself to her feet. "Is that really the time? Goodness, I must get on. I need to press Lady Mary's dress before dinner."

She can feel his eyes burning into the back of her head as she hurries out of the room.

* * *

She sighs loudly as she put down the iron, wiping the sweat from her brow. She's just about managed it. Now there won't be a minute before the dressing gong is rung, and then the servants' hall will be full until it is time to go to bed. There won't be any time for Mr. Green to catch her alone.

She still quite likes him, if she is honest with herself. He is charming, and he knows how to make her laugh. He asks questions, and looks like he is genuinely interested in her replies. But, sometimes, he is a little more familiar than she is truly comfortable with. Like earlier, in the servants' hall. She knows that he was only trying to be helpful, but he doesn't seem to understand the concept of appropriateness. She is a married woman – a _happily_ married woman – and he evidently doesn't understand what it would look like to outsiders to see him giving her love poems and sitting so close.

There haven't been enough incidents in the last two weeks for her to raise her concerns with John. She knows that the moment she does, he will fly off the handle. He is generally a gentle man, but she knows he has a temper when pushed, and she thinks that knowing a younger man was overstepping the boundaries is bound to set him off. His jealousy thrills her, but he's been trying so hard to pretend that he isn't bothered by Mr. Green's subtle attentions that she didn't want to ruin that.

Dinner passes quickly, and Mr. Green is the image of decorum. He laughs with everybody and doesn't give Anna any special attention. His foot had brushed against hers when he'd stretched out his legs beneath the table, but she thinks that that had been accidental. Once, he had shot her one of those brilliant smiles. John, deep in conversation with Mrs. Hughes, hadn't notice, and she'd returned it tentatively, instinctively dropping her hand to John's knee. He'd started, making his excuses to Mrs. Hughes before turning to look at her and ask if everything was all right. She'd felt silly for her impulsive reaction, so she'd just nodded quickly, gesturing for him to continue his conversation. He'd raised his eyebrow at her but said no more.

When dinner has been cleared away, most of the servants set about relaxing until the family is ready to retire for the night. Mr. Green folds his arms across his chest.

"Anyone fancy a game of something?" he asks, but his eyes are on Anna this time.

"I'm up for that," says Jimmy. "What about you, Mr. Barrow?"

Thomas blows out a ring of smoke lazily. "All right, why not?"

"What about you, Anna?" Mr. Green asks. "You can team up with me for a game of All Fours."

She can feel John watching carefully.

"No, thank you, Mr. Green," she says. "I think I'll just go out and grab some fresh air. Mr. Bates, would you accompany me?"

"Certainly," he says nonchalantly, rising to his feet and snatching his cane. Mr. Green watches him. His expression is impassive.

John follows her out of the servants' hall and through to the courtyard. The weather is beginning to chill again as summer melts into autumn, and Anna shivers – she's left her coat hanging up inside. She takes hold of John's hand as they move further out towards a stack of crates that will offer them some privacy. His fingers curl around hers. Little pinpricks of warmth dart over her skin as his thumb traces her knuckles.

As soon as they are behind the crates, Anna pulls her husband down to her, slanting her mouth against his. He makes a muffled sound of surprise, but he is soon participating as enthusiastically as she is, his big hands tracing long, slow, arousing strokes up and down her sides. She is careful to keep her hands well away from his hair, all too aware of how ardent she gets, and when they finally break apart, John is grinning broadly.

"Why, Mrs. Bates," he purrs. "What a pleasant surprise."

"You know me," she says. "I like to keep you on your toes."

"That you certainly do," he says, releasing his hold on her and urging her to sit on a smaller pile of crates nearby. He opens his arm for her, and she snuggles underneath, resting her head against his shoulder. Suddenly, she is tired. She can't wait for the day to be over, when she can sink beneath her bed sheets with John's warmth wrapped around her, and let her tired limbs rest. Just one final push, and then that will be it.

John's lips brush against her temple, his nose nuzzling her hair. She sighs in contentment, letting her eyes drift closed. There's nothing quite like the sweet, pure relief that she feels whenever she's in his embrace.

"Let's not stay out here too long," he murmurs, obviously feeling the slight tremble in her bones. "It's too cold to be staying in one position. We might freeze to death."

"And what a sight that would be for Mr. Carson," she says with a grin. "He'd likely have a heart attack!"

"He ought to suspect that we're not the images of propriety that we are when we're at work," John agrees.

"Kissing behind crates constitutes as being the image of propriety to you?"

He nudges her, smirking. "It does when you consider what we're like at home."

She giggles mischievously, feeling impish. "Well, I can't argue with you there."

"Anna, Mr. Bates? Are you out here?"

Mrs. Hughes' Scottish brogue interrupts them then. John sighs.

"Well, that really was only a brief moment's respite," he says.

"It's more than we usually manage," Anna reasons, shuffling away from him. "Come on, let's get going before Mrs. Hughes sends a search party out for us."

John helps her down from the crate, and together they walk back towards the big house. Mrs. Hughes is still standing in the doorway, shielding her eyes over the glare from behind her.

"There you are!" she exclaims. "Lady Mary and his lordship are both ready for you now."

"We'll be right there," Anna calls, and then turns towards her husband. He gives her one of those half-smiles.

"I'll see you at the back door in just a little while?"

"Of course you will," she says, risking giving his hand a quick squeeze. "I'll see you soon."

Together, they traipse inside to complete their final duties of the night.

* * *

They meet in the corridor just outside the back door as planned. John is already wearing his coat when she gets there, his hat perched atop his head. He smiles at her as she shrugs into her own things, eager to get home and be done for the night. They say goodnight to Mrs. Hughes, who has poked her head out of her sitting room at the noise in the corridor, and she wishes them the same before retreating. Together, they step outside.

John sighs when the fresh wind hits his face, tilting his head upwards to look at the moon.

"Look how beautiful the night is," he comments. "Sometimes it feels like a crime to be locked inside working all night, never getting the chance to see it properly."

Anna giggles, slipping her hand into his. "Well, you can sit outside when we get back home, if you're really that enchanted. Meanwhile, I'll get nice and cosy in bed."

"If you're going to be in bed, perhaps the appeal of sitting out in the moonlight has waned," he growls in response, and she laughs more vigorously.

"If that's the case," she says, tugging him along, "we'd better hurry."

He seems to be of the same mind, quickening his pace. Together, they cross the courtyard.

"Tell me about your day," says John as they walk, angling his head so that he can look down on her.

It is the usual line of conversation that their walk home takes. Even working in the same house, their paths rarely cross except for at meals, and those times aren't the most convenient for having more private conversations about the family. They trust each other with keeping the secrets of their respective masters, but to speak of them in the servants' hall would tempt fate and risk somebody else overhearing. That means that whenever they reached home, they have more time to talk about things that are more important to them: either the future, or their current problems, whether it's the exact placement of the furniture in the parlour, or something more significant.

"You've finished for the night, then?"

Mr. Green's voice interrupts them, and Anna starts a little. She turns towards him at once. He is leaning casually against a barrel, cigarette hanging coolly from his loose fingers.

Usually, John would be quick to drop her hand, conscious of gossip being spread about them, but he keeps his grip on her fingers firm as they regard the other valet. Mr. Green's gaze flickers down to their hands, but he says nothing more.

"Yes, we are," says John pleasantly. "We're hoping to get a couple of relaxing hours in before we have to retire to bed."

"Reading more books?"

John's mouth hardens into a firm line, an expression that Anna doesn't see very often. "Well, we'll have to see what mood takes us."

Heat sears her cheeks at his words, and she is momentarily amazed that the stoic John Bates would ever dare to allude to their marital intimacy out of the company of just the two of them. She knows that she should be irritated at him for projecting it out there, but at the same time it is rather rousing. She really is his in that sense, and he is hers. Nothing can change that.

Mr. Green flicks loose ash away from his cigarette, rolling it thoughtfully between his fingers. He continues to say nothing, which is a bit off-putting, and John deems it time to move, tugging Anna along with him. She holds onto his hand tighter, and he pulls her closer.

She can feel Mr. Green's eyes lingering on them as they walk away.

* * *

The following day, Anna is walking down the corridor towards Lady Mary's quarters when she turns a corner and runs headlong into Mr. Green. She stumbles a little and instinctively put out a hand to stop herself from falling; the clothes that she has been carrying spill from her arms and come to rest in a sorry heap all over the floor. She barely has time to catch her breath before Mr. Green is bending down in front of her, gathering her things together.

"You don't have to do that," she says quickly, bending down beside him to help.

He looks up and smiles at her, his eyes twinkling. "I know I don't have to. I want to."

Anna's breath catches in her throat at the sudden searing intensity in his dark eyes, and she is quick to drop her gaze to the floor, disconcerted. However, a second later her gaze flies back up to meet his, panicked, because he's moved his hand across the floor and gently rested it on top of hers. He has strong, solid fingers like her husband, less roughened but more intimidating. She shoots back to her feet, Lady Mary's dresses forgotten, staring at him wide-eyed. Mr. Green doesn't seem the slightest bit concerned by her reaction, taking the time to gather up the clothes that she's dropped again, offering them to her. She takes them silently, still wide-eyed with shock at his audacity. He doesn't seem inclined to speak anymore, and she is at a loss for words after the altercation, so she presses herself to the wall and sidles past him as best she can, careful to make sure that there is enough space between them. She is reluctant to turn her back on him, but she knows that she has to, and hurries away from him as fast as she can without running.

Had he really just done that? Had he really tried to take her hand in the broad upstairs hallway? She shivers. His passive flirting has just stepped way over the boundary towards active pursuance.

She chances one last glance behind her before she rounds the corner. He is standing in exactly the same place, smiling to himself.

Suddenly, Mr. Green's smile has lost its charm.

* * *

"You've looked preoccupied all evening," John murmurs to her later that night, his hand splayed warmly against her thigh, his legs tangled with hers.

Anna shifts a little in his embrace, finding his hand and taking it. "I know, I'm sorry. I'm just a little stressed with Lady Mary's new mourning dress. I can't seem to get the hem to sit right."

"Don't let that consume you too much," he comments, squeezing her hand. "There are worse things to worry about in the world."

She nods, biting her lip, glad that he can't see her face in the darkness. Yes, there are plenty worse things to worry about in the world. Like Mr. Green. How had she read him all wrong? Why is he showing such an interest in her? She has never encouraged him, not once. She's smiled at him in the way that she smiles at everyone else, she's spoken to him no differently than she speaks to the others. Why does he seem to think that he had the right to behave like an animal?

She feels a little foolish. Just days ago she had been making excuses for his odd behaviour, putting it down to his charming personality.

Perhaps she is over-reacting. After all, he'd only touched her hand.

_It was your hand this time. What about next time?_

She shivers; there won't be a next time. She'll make sure of that.

"Anna?"

John's breath blows against her ear. He sounds sleepier now.

"Yes?" she asks, voice catching a little in her throat.

Her sweet, dear husband suspects nothing. He is aware of the other valet's sometimes flirty behaviour, but he believes that it will go no further than that. Apart from the initial spark of jealousy that he'd felt upon seeing the two of them together, he has mostly been cordial; quite cold but polite all the same, and he hasn't really brought up the issue with Anna again. She knows that it is more because of the fact that he trusts her rather than him having no fears at all, and she hates to keep it to herself. That isn't who they are, not now. Sharing things has become a vital part of their lives since his return from Vera all that time ago. She tells him everything, and it feels awful to not tell him about what has happened today. But she knows that he'll take it the wrong way if she does. Either his usually dormant temper will flare up, and he'll cause a scene, or he'll wallow. Neither is an appealing prospect, so keeping quiet is the best alternative she has. She'll sort this by herself.

"I've been thinking," he mumbles. "If we can get a few days leave in sometime in the next few months, I think we should go to the seaside. We've not been able to get away, just the two of us, yet. It'll be quite cold, but we don't have to see the sights. Or, if you'd prefer, we could take a look at some hotels in the area, for the future. I quite like the idea of a seaside hotel."

Her heart swells and breaks at the same time at his words, and she squeezes his hand all the tighter. "That sounds lovely. I'd enjoy that. Let's make it a plan."

She feels him nod behind her, his lips ghosting against her shoulder. "I'm glad you approve."

She wriggles out of his embrace and rolls over so that she is facing him, unable to go a second longer without staring into his face. His eyes had been drooping a little, but he snaps them open more fully when her hand comes up to caress his cheek, her thumb sweeping tenderly against the notch there. When she has his attention, she leans in to him and presses her mouth against his, lingering. There is no movement, just the long press of lips, and when they part, she is pleased to see the tiniest hint of a blush in his cheeks.

"What was that for?" he asks her, and she simply smiles.

"Just wanted to remind you that I love you," she says, moving to settle back down. Suddenly, she is seized by uncertainty. "You know that, don't you?"

He chuckles, moving to swipe a few stray strands of hair away from her temples. "Of course I know that. After everything we've been through, how could I not?"

She kisses him again, and when they part, he eases himself onto his back. She follows him at once, pressing her ear against his chest. Silence reigns then, and soon John's snores are filling the air. Anna closes her own eyes, letting the beat of her husband's heart coax her further and further towards the realm of sleep.

Tomorrow, she thinks, she'll sort this situation out properly before it escalates any further.

* * *

She manages to hide her nerves well from John as they make their way back to Downton Abbey early the next morning. He doesn't seem to suspect a thing as he kisses her cheek just outside the perimeter and drops her hand, ready to become the image of propriety. She follows behind him, mind whirring. It probably won't be an issue to get Mr. Green alone, since he is already fond of catching her out, but she is having more difficulty trying to compose the opening of her speech.

_Mr. Green, you're a nice man…_

_I'm quite flattered, but this can't continue..._

_Don't you understand that I'm married?_

Once breakfast is over, she makes the hike upstairs to take care of her morning tasks. She keeps glancing about to see if Mr. Green is around, but he isn't. She doesn't see him again until dinner, which is odd, considering that every day previously she has spent at least a few minutes of her time with him. During the meal, he doesn't look at her even once. It is confusing, and Anna finds herself even more on edge, wondering what he is up to.

And then the announcement comes from Mr. Carson.

"As you may be aware," he says imperiously, "Lord Gillingham and Lady Mary have struck up a friendship. But Lord Gillingham has some business to attend to in London, so he will be leaving the day after tomorrow."

Anna instinctively looks towards Mr. Green. He is accepting the coos of disappointment from the younger housemaids with that half-grin of his. He still won't meet her gaze.

Anna can't share in the disappointment that the others are feeling, and she can sense that John is more than a little pleased by the announcement. She drops her hand beneath the table to find his, giving it a squeeze. He shoots her a sidelong grin that has her heart stuttering in her chest. She has a feeling that he will want to celebrate the news with her when they return to their cottage, though he will disguise it as something else.

Perhaps it doesn't matter that she hasn't had the chance to say her piece today. Things will still turn out all right. Their lives can still return to normal.

* * *

Anna feels much lighter the next morning. She practically flings herself out of bed, something unheard of before today. John grumbles in the bed sheets behind her, pulling his pillow over his head and refusing to move. Anna giggles, tugging the sheets from him to reveal his naked body.

"Come on, Mr. Bates," she sings, flitting about the room like a butterfly.

"Of all the mornings for you to be bright as a bird," she hears him grouse, his voice muffled by his pillow. "This ought to be illegal."

She doesn't bother fighting against the bright smirk that overtakes her features. Last night's celebrating had gone on longer than they'd intended. As it is, they have barely had their heads down for a couple of hours. Under normal circumstances, Anna's mood would have been astronomical, but she can't be anything short of ecstatic today.

John drags himself out of bed as she puts her hair up into its usual bun, moving to find some clean underpants so that he can freshen up in the bathroom before they head out. Anna smiles devilishly as he bends down to ferret at the bottom of their wardrobe. That is certainly a sight for sore eyes.

"John?" she purrs.

He turns around, raising his eyebrow questioningly. He hasn't slipped his pants on yet. Her smile widens.

"Perhaps we can have a repeat performance tonight?" she asks.

His own smile begins to bloom across his face. She takes it as a yes.

* * *

Mr. Green has avoided her all morning again, which suits her just fine. She completes all of her tasks happily, and even has time for a cup of tea between meeting Lady Mary's demands. Mr. Green doesn't make an appearance at all, obviously busy preparing for his master's return to London. Anna overhears the maids bemoaning their bad luck that yet another good looking man is leaving the house, but it only cheers Anna further. Things will go back to how they had been before, and that suits her just fine.

And then, it happens.

She is in the hallway collecting linens when she hears his approach. Even though she hasn't known him long, she knows his tread. It is different to the other men's who worked in the house. It is almost a swagger. And there is a purpose to his steps. Not a good combination now, Anna thinks. But she plasters the best smile that she can onto her face and waits for him to reach her.

"How can I help you, Mr. Green?" she asks, hoping that her tone is light enough.

There is a kind of fevered energy about him.

"I have to leave tomorrow," he says.

"Yes, I know that. But you'll be going back to London. It's better than the dull countryside."

He shakes his head. His eyes are bright.

"London won't have you," he says.

She laughs nervously. "Very funny, Mr. Green. Now, I really must get on."

She makes to move past him, but his hand shoots out and catches her arm in a grip that hurts.

"I can't stop thinking about you," he says. "Every night, I envision you with me. Come with me now. We won't be missed for a while. I know you feel what I feel. Your husband need never know."

For a moment, Anna is too stunned to even try to formulate any words. And then the anger begins to rise in her body, like a fireball. It would be fearsome if it exploded.

"Just what are you suggesting?" she hisses. "I have never –"

She is stopped short then, by the press of Mr. Green's mouth against her own. His tongue is already swiping at her bottom lip, trying to coax her into opening up. It takes every ounce of her strength to push back as forcefully as she can. Evidently not expecting her to respond in such a way, he stumbles away from her, hitting the wall on the other side of the narrow corridor. Anna pants hard through her mouth, glaring at him with all the ferocity she has. There is a metal band squeezing her heart.

"Don't you dare," she says lowly, and her voice quivers. "I don't know what kind of behaviour that you're used to from women that you shower with attention, but I can promise you that I won't be falling at your feet. I'm a married woman. I know the importance of my vows. And I love my husband. I would never hurt him in such a way. Now leave me alone, or I'll report you straight to Mr. Carson."

He doesn't seem the slightest bit fazed by her threat. He merely smooths down his uniform and turns away. Anna remains rooted to the spot until she is sure that he is gone, before sinking to the floor in a trembling heap. Her heart is beating like a bird's wings against a gilded cage. She can't stop her hands from shaking.

She prays to God that that will be the end.

* * *

For the rest of the day, she stays close to the others, careful to never let herself be alone. She knows that she ought to tell someone about the incident upstairs, but she is reluctant to cause trouble. Lady Mary has enough on her plate without her adding to it, and she is fearful of what John will do now that the other valet really has made a bold move. She doesn't want him to get into trouble on her behalf – and that is likely, because he would never allow Mr. Green to get away with something like that. So she stays quiet all through dinner, letting the others lead the conversation and chipping in only when necessary. She and John stay at the servants' hall table afterwards, and Anna is relieved that Mr. Green is needed to finish last minute packing for Lord Gillingham and is therefore unable to spend his last night downstairs.

She tries to forget about it then, joining in with the lively game of backgammon that has begun and laughing at the outrage that is caused when John, who is something of a deft hand at it, years of experience having taught him all the tricks, uses his knowledge to help Anna trounce everybody in turn. Anna giggles as he holds up his hands in mock defence, and then lets her own creep into his when he drops them below the line of the table again.

Still, the niggling reminder of what had occurred behind John's back remains.

* * *

That night, John's hands and mouth excite her out of her senses, but in the darkness of the aftermath, when thoughts prey on the mind as easily as they soothe, Anna feels crippling guilt. She has allowed another man to kiss her. She has been tainted, and now she is tainting them.


	4. Could It Be Any Harder

**A/N:** No, there are no dirty shenanigans here (though God knows I enjoy them).

**Guest 1 –** Will Anna speak up? Find out below! :) Sorry about your stomach being in knots, though I suppose it means I did my job right, so I can't be too sorry. :P

**batesfan2 –** Anna is definitely not interested (who would be, after John!?). I hope you continue to enjoy, even if you don't like the path it takes.

**Guest 2 –** Haha, I take that as a good thing, then! (He makes me want to vomit, too!)

**Guest 3 –** I'm still living in hope that they'll come out of whatever is thrown at them in series four stronger than ever. If a murder trial doesn't break them up, then surely nothing else can. And thank you very much. Most of the story will revolve around Anna's emotions and thoughts processes and actions, so hopefully I can continue to keep them believable in the coming chapters. (Also, thank you for adopting "Guest 3", haha. It's nice to know that I'm speaking to the same person each time!)

Thanks, as usual, for your reviews!

* * *

_4. Could It Be Any Harder_

When Anna takes Lady Mary's breakfast up to her two days later, she finds her sitting up in bed, cradling young Master George on her knees, staring down into his face. Anna loiters for a moment, wondering if she should spoil the moment between mother and son, before Lady Mary glances up and notices her lingering by the doorway. She smiles a tired smile and beckons her in closer. Anna obliges, closing the door behind her and setting the tray down on the dresser.

"He's growing so big already," says Lady Mary wistfully, stroking her finger down his plump cheek.

Anna pads over to the bed, tentatively kneeling down beside her. "He certainly is. It's amazing how quickly time passes by."

A shadow passes over Lady Mary's face, and Anna inwardly kicks herself for being so thoughtless. But the look is gone in a flash, replaced by Lady Mary's stoic mask. Her shoulders hunch. She is rallying herself.

"Yes," she says. "And every day, he looks more like Mr. Matthew."

A truer statement has never been levelled at the baby. Master George's hair is blond and beginning to thicken from the babyish strands. His eyes have stayed blue, that piercing shade that Mr. Crawley had possessed. And his little face is all his father's. Mr. Crawley might be gone, but he has left a legacy to be remembered by.

Anna swallows the lump in her throat, reaching out to catch the baby's flailing fist. "He certainly does, milady."

Lady Mary sighs, one that is weighed with love and loss. "I miss him more than words can say. Some days, I don't know if it's a curse or a blessing that he looks so much like him."

"It will be a blessing in the end, milady," Anna manages. Master George is squeezing her index finger in his fist, shaking it around. She knows that Lady Mary would sometimes like to forget, to be able to shut off the pain and feel numb just for a few hours, but in the end she will treasure the greatest gift that could have been given to her. Anna had been much less fortunate when her John's life had been in the balance. If he had been hanged, then she would have been left with nothing. No child to adore for the rest of her life. Not even one faded photograph of the two of them together. Her memories would have had to have sufficed, and in the end they would have deserted her too, when she was old and too addled to remember things properly. It had been that thought that had scared her most of all. Forgetting. Letting him fade into nothing, as if what they'd shared had never existed in the first place.

Lady Mary gently eases her son from her lap, setting him on the quilt as Anna retrieves the tray for her. She watches him wriggle and babble while Lady Mary sips her tea, a faraway look in her eyes.

"Should I be feeling guilty?" she says aloud.

"For what, milady?" asks Anna, tearing her eyes away from the little boy.

Lady Mary smiles sadly. "I didn't think about him as soon as I woke up this morning. Every day since…since it happened, he's been the first thing on my mind. But this morning he wasn't. And then, when I realised, I felt a little…relieved. Relieved that I could think about something else first. Does that not sound like the most awful thing in the world?"

"It's been eight months now," says Anna as gently as she can. "I don't think anyone can accuse you of being a horrible person because of it."

"I'm not ready to move on yet," she admits. "I know it's still early days, but I'm not sure that I'll ever _want_ to. But I think I'm starting to get ready for my life to move forward again."

"And that's why you feel guilty?"

"I just wouldn't want Mr. Matthew to think that I'd forsaken him for the next best thing."

Anna shivers at her words. All too painfully, she is aware of what had transpired just the other day, with Mr. Green's mouth pressed against her own. It doesn't matter that she hadn't been the slightest bit interested in him. It had still happened.

"I'm sure that Mr. Matthew would never feel like that, milady," she manages. "He'd _want_ you to move on and be happy."

"But so soon?" she persists. "Don't you think that every man would be destroyed to know that the woman they loved could forget about them so soon?"

She thinks of John's tender smile and the way that he worships her as if she is the only woman in the entire world. She sees herself with Mr. Green in her mind's eye, stunned as he'd kissed her. John would be so hurt if he ever found out. He might even decide that he can't trust her, that he can't continue to live with her. She can't breathe for the lump in her throat.

"Anna, are you all right?" Lady Mary sounds concerned, and she forces herself back into the present.

"Perfectly, milady," she says.

But she isn't, and she knows that she never will be. Perhaps she really does need to confront John with the problem despite her crippling fears, to find out what his reaction really would be. She can't continue on forever like this. He already suspects that something isn't quite right, and the longer she keeps it to herself, the worse it will be in the long run.

What it will do to them, though, she doesn't know.

* * *

The idea of bringing up what had happened with Mr. Green plagues Anna all day, until she finally thinks that she has no option but to do it. She doesn't believe in secrets, and she doesn't want their marriage to be poisoned by deceit.

John is obviously curious about her nervous mood, because he shoots her little glances every few metres on the way home, obviously trying to gauge a sense of what has brought it on. He doesn't seem to know how to ask, however, which suits her just fine – it gives her the chance to formulate the best way of bringing it up. She takes her time changing into her night clothes while John brews them a pot of tea and sets out a piece of cake that she'd made a couple of days earlier. The fire is roaring in the grate when she returns, clutching her shawl around her shoulders. She offers him an uneasy smile, which he returns. He gestures for her to sit beside him on their new sofa, and she pads across the room to him, settling down beside him. He kisses the top of her head when she curls her legs up and anchors herself to his waist. Neither of them is inclined to speak for a little while. Anna gazes into the flickering flames, her fingers tracing idle patterns against his waistcoat. At last, she sighs, and pulls away from him.

"John, something's been bothering me," she says.

He nods silently. His eyes are watchful. She grasps her courage with both hands, taking a deep breath.

"John," she begins, and then she's interrupted by a knock on the door. They swivel their heads towards the parlour's entrance. It's late now; who could possibly be disturbing them?

"I'll get it," says John, gently disentangling himself from her. She wraps her shawl more firmly around her shoulders, shadowing his steps, waiting in the darkened entrance to the parlour. John unlatches the door, opening it just a tad to peer through the gap.

"Bates!" comes the loud voice, and John opens the door wider. It's their neighbour, Sam Jones, and he looks panicked.

"What's the matter?" John asks.

Sam's expression only grows more agitated. "It's Lizzie. She's gone into labour early. I need to run into the village to get Doctor Clarkson, but I don't want to leave her alone. Would Anna be able to sit with her just until I get back? I know it's a lot to ask, especially when you've got work so early in the morning, but Lizzie wouldn't want anyone else."

"Of course I'll come. It's no trouble at all," says Anna at once, stepping forward. Her heart goes out to the terrified young man who has never had to deal with anything quite as frightening before. "Let me get my coat, and I'll be right over."

Sam nods and backs away, obviously intent on running back to his cottage to let his wife know. Anna unhooks her coat from the bottom of the stairs and pulls it on quickly.

"Don't wait up for me," she says. "Who knows how long Mr. Jones will be?"

John shakes his head. "But our talk…"

The moment for that is long gone, and she has no courage left.

"Please don't worry yourself with that," she says. "I was only going to bore you silly with my concerns for Lady Mary."

"Really?" he asks. "It seemed a bit more serious than that. You're not just saying it?"

"What reason would I have to lie?" she asks lightly, leaning up to peck at his cheek. "I have a lovely home, a good job, and the perfect husband."

John's face breaks into a smile, and her heart simply breaks. But she swallows and offers him the best smile that she can in return, squeezing his hand.

"I'll see you in a little while," she says.

"I'll keep the sheets warm for you," he returns.

She smiles once more and leaves him there, bowing her head against the sharp wind and her own disgrace.

* * *

She isn't sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing, but the days pass by and her guilt begins to fade. She finds that she can smile openly again and mean it, and that she can kiss her husband and not have the shame lurking in the shadows.

John, for his part, has seemingly been settled by her return to her usual sunniness, his own smile lightening and his eyes regaining their shine. They laugh and joke and flirt like young sweethearts, spending their time together engaging in whatever activity takes their fancy, whether it is an afternoon spent tidying the garden, taking a walk around the nearby fields of wildflowers, or indeed cocooned up in bed.

Anna has managed to convince herself that it's in everybody's best interests for her to keep silent. She hates lying to John, something that she has never done in the ten years that she has known him, but Mr. Green is gone and she knows deep down that adding yet another bruise to their already battered hearts will help neither of them really. Even with him gone, John would brood and torture himself with the possibility that perhaps her love for him was waning, and those thoughts would loop and loop around his mind until he went mad. She knows that he has absolutely nothing to worry about in any respect, but it would take a lot of reassuring to convince him of the same – if his trust in her wasn't already broken beyond repair.

Mr. Green holds not the slightest bit of interest for her. Her stomach had never fluttered with anticipation at the thought of seeing him again, and it had never dropped breathlessly when he had shot that secret smile at her. She had never lost herself in his eyes, or caught herself tracing each and every feature of his face, committing it all to memory. She had never fantasied about him touching her with his hands. She had never dreamed about the way he tasted.

In short, she has never thought about him in the way that she thinks about John. _He_ is the only man who could have her fighting for breath from the slightest brush of his fingers, and there had been no spark when Mr. Green had kissed her.

Mr. Green is nothing to her. John is her entire world. And that's how she's sure that it will stay.

* * *

Lady Mary is looking surprisingly determined when Anna enters her room carrying her breakfast tray. There is a hard set to her mouth and a fiery determination in her gaze. It stops her in her tracks for a moment, and then she smiles.

For the first time since Mr. Matthew's death, there is the touch of the old Lady Mary Crawley.

The younger woman nods her head in response to Anna's smile, and she bustles around the room while she picks up her tea, opening the curtains. The sunlight is bright, setting the sheets aglow, enhancing the resolve in Lady Mary's eyes even more.

"What would you like to wear today?" Anna asks as she sets out the brushes and pins needed for Lady Mary's hair.

"The new black dress, I think," she replies. "I need to go to the village today."

There is a band of steel in her voice, and Anna pauses, momentarily stunned. Lady Mary has barely left the house since Mr. Matthew's death. She certainly hasn't ventured into the village.

"Anna, did you hear me?"

"Yes, milady," she murmurs, and sets about finding out the dress.

She can't help smiling as she ferrets in the wardrobe. Perhaps everything really can begin to return to normal now after the long months of darkness that has plagued the whole house.

The situation continues to improve over the next few days, and Lady Mary's new burst of life seems to invigorate everybody. Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson seem less snappish, and John reveals to her that his lordship is much more relaxed. Seeing his eldest daughter in pain, Lord Grantham had confided to John, had only driven home his feelings of utter uselessness when it came to helping his daughters.

"_I have already lost one daughter, and there was nothing that I could do to prevent it,"_ he had said. _"These past months, I have feared that I have come too close to losing another daughter as well."_

This evening, there is an odd buzz in the air as Anna makes her way back downstairs for her dinner. No one seems to know what is going on, but everybody has their own theories that get more outrageous by the second.

"The family is thinking about cutting down the number of staff," Thomas tells the younger maids unkindly, sending them into a spin.

"Mrs. Hughes is retiring," Jimmy says, claiming he had heard it being discussed.

Anna rolls her eyes. She knows that Mr. Carson will let them know the truth whenever it is deemed appropriate to.

She doesn't have to wait long, for before dinner, Mr. Carson stands.

"I'd like to say something before we eat tonight," he says.

The maids titter in fear, but it is Anna's world that comes crashing down around her.

"As you may be aware, Lady Mary has struck up a friendship with Lord Gillingham," Mr. Carson says. "They got on well when he last visited here, and she would like to continue to see him."

Anna feels a cold prickling at the base of her skull.

"So," Mr. Carson continues, "she has invited him to Downton again, the week after next. He can't stay long this time, just a few days before he goes overseas for a few months. I need all of you to offer the best service possible and to ensure his comfort while he's here."

"Will Mr. Green be coming back too?" pipes up one of the maids, obviously not the slightest bit interested in making Lord Gillingham happy.

Mr. Carson frowns. "Of course he'll be returning. He's Lord Gillingham's valet, is he not?"

A ripple of excitement shudders through the female staff. Anna tries to keep her own face expression smooth. Inside, she feels as if the world is ending. She chances a glance at John. His own face is impassive, but she can read his eyes. He looks ill.

Mr. Green is returning to Downton. And she has a feeling that her problems are only just beginning.

* * *

**A/N:** The next chapter will be more interesting, I promise. I don't promise that everything will be okay, though. So yeah, forewarning.


	5. The Change

**A/N:** The angst starts properly now – at least towards the end.

**Trigger warning applies for this chapter (and beyond). If you want to know exactly what the trigger entails so that you can determine if you'll be able to read or not, scroll to the bottom of the chapter and read the bolded A/N there. Thank you.**

**Guest –** I love the relationship between Anna and Mary (I hope that we get to see so much more of it in series four!), so it's always nice to write those scenes. I hope that you continue to enjoy (although "enjoy" is the wrong word for this chapter, I think).

**Guest 3 –** Exactly. Fellowes has got to be smart enough to know that. And let's face it, they deserve happiness more than anyone. I'm glad you still think the chapter was needed, and that it did show Anna's dilemma. And yes, there will be both Bates/Carson and Bates/Robert interaction in one of the future chapters. I've not got quite as far as writing that just yet, but I'm looking forward to it.

Thank you for your reviews!

* * *

_5. The Change_

Suitably, the day of Mr. Green's return dawns grey. Clouds hang threateningly low overheard, and the air is closed. A storm is brewing.

Both Anna and John are quiet as they go about their morning routines, their minds preoccupied by other things. Their usual morning kiss is all that they share. John doesn't sidle up behind her and wrap his strong arms around her waist, attempting to distract her with teasing kisses to the back of her neck. She doesn't try to take over the applying of his pomade, seeing how loose she can leave it for her own lecherous benefit without it appearing scandalous to others. They manage half-smiles before they enter Downton together, each cloaking their own concerns. John is clearly remembering his own discomfort and frustration at having another man flirting subtly with his wife, and Anna herself is terrified that Mr. Green will make a point of bringing up the kiss with John. Now that she hasn't mentioned it to him, it would be all the more devastating. The first version of events that he hears will forever mar any other. Even if she came clean afterwards, there would always be the niggling doubt.

They stand outside silently as the motor pulls up, watch as pleasantries are exchanged between Lord Gillingham and the family. Anna can feel Mr. Green's eyes burning her, but she keeps her gaze studiously ahead, refusing to acknowledge him. When it is time to return indoors, she makes sure that she pulls John along with her in front, keeping well ahead of the visiting valet. John raises his eyebrows at her, but he says nothing, obviously just as eager that she shouldn't spend any time with him.

When they go inside, Anna offers to help Alice with making sure that the guest room is completely spotless, as one of the housemaids is ill, citing that she has no other work to do and she hates having idle hands. John has a daytrip to London with his lordship to prepare for, and goes off to pack for him. Anna breathes a sigh of relief that she needn't worry about keeping the two men apart just yet. But their paths will cross at some point, and she's terrified of what the consequences might be.

* * *

Mr. Green is a huge hit at dinner. The maids hang onto his every word about the things that he has done since leaving Downton, and even Mr. Carson is warm in his enquiries.

He's charmed _everyone_. Anna jabs at a carrot with a thrill of fear in her stomach. Would they believe her over him if word ever got out?

_Stop thinking like that,_ she tells herself fiercely. A sidelong glance confirms her husband's own glum look. He's barely touched his shepherd's pie, a welcome change from the usual stew. Anna tries to subtly shift her hand to his knee, wanting to give him some reassurance, but before she can do so, he stands abruptly, almost knocking over his glass of water in his haste. He looks mildly embarrassed at the attention that he garners.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I feel a little warm. Do you mind if I step outside for a minute?"

"Not at all, Mr. Bates," says Mrs. Hughes, obviously concerned.

John takes hold of his cane and dips his head as he makes his way out of the hall. Anna watches him leave, then allows her gaze to drift over to Mr. Green. He's smirking just a little. It would barely be noticeable to any of the others, but she can see it. A lead ball settles in her stomach.

"I think I should check on him," she says, stumbling to her own feet.

Mr. Carson huffs a little in exasperation, but she ignores him, not waiting for consent before following in her husband's footsteps.

She finds him sitting outside in their usual spot. His cane is resting between his legs, and his head is tipped back, contemplating the stars. She doesn't try to keep her steps light, giving him the opportunity to prepare for her arrival. He keeps staring at the heavens above as she takes the seat by his side, slipping her hand into his. She feels relief beyond reason when he accepts her touch, curling his fingers around hers.

"What's the matter?" she asks him quietly, leaning her head against his arm. "Come on, you can tell me anything."

_Just like you tell him everything?_

She shakes the nasty voice away as he sighs, slowly turning his gaze away from the sky.

"You're going to be irritated with me," he whispers.

"Never," she promises, moving to cup his cheek. Her heart is palpitating too fast in her chest.

He sighs again, turning more fully into her touch.

"It was Green," he confesses, his voice barely audible over the little rushes of wind. "I saw the way he was looking at you at dinner…and I didn't like it. I just had to get away. I'm sorry. I know you don't like it when I get possessive. I trust you."

_For now_, the little voice in her head says, and she bites hard at her lip, drawing closer to him.

"I saw it too," she confesses. "And it makes me feel a little uneasy."

"Then perhaps I should speak to him about it. Remind him that you're married."

"No, don't do that," she says too quickly, then trips over her tongue. "It might make things worse. He won't be here for long. Please, let's keep it between the two of us."

John's gaze softens, and he bends his head to kiss her sweetly. She accepts it, knowing that he needs the reassurance, uncaring that they are in full view of the house.

"All right," he says. "I won't cause a scene."

"Thank you."

"Can you promise me one thing, though?"

"Of course, John. Anything."

He fiddles with her wedding ring, sheepish. "Will you promise that you won't let him get you alone?"

"John –"

"I know it sounds possessive," he says hurriedly. "But I really don't trust him. Please, Anna."

What else can she say? After everything that he doesn't know, she has little choice.

"I promise," she says.

He smiles at her slightly, features relaxing, then leans in to kiss her again.

"Pardon me for the intrusion."

Anna and John almost leap a foot in the air at the unpleasant voice, whirling around in a panic to see who had caught them being so unprofessional.

Anna panic increases tenfold. Of course, who else would it have been?

Mr. Green stays near the back door, leaning casually against the frame, blowing smoke into the cool air. He eyes them with a lazy interest.

"How cosy," he says. "Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes can't praise your professionalism enough. Do they know what rebels you are, sneaking around together out here? Do any of them? Especially _you_, Anna."

Anna stares at him wide-eyed, her heart in her mouth. Surely he isn't going to reveal all, is he?

_Please God, _please_…_

"What do you mean?" John snipes, voice dangerously low.

Mr. Green raises an eyebrow at him, looking bored. He takes his time in answering, blowing out one last ring of smoke and then stubbing his cigarette out against the brick wall, drawing out her torment. She hopes that John doesn't realise just how sweaty her palm has suddenly become. Then he turns away.

"I don't mean anything," he says. "Though I would suggest that you're not long before you return inside. Mrs. Patmore is a tad irritated that you've not eaten properly."

John grits his teeth at being spoken to like a stupid boy, but her pleas must have still been ringing in his ears, for he only gets to his feet. Anna follows him shakily as he makes his way back inside. She spares one quick glance at the other valet, and he meets it. His expression is unreadable, but she thinks – or at the very least hopes – that the secret is still safe. It would have been the perfect time to reveal it, after all. To kick him when he was down, to tell all when they had just been kissing, leaving John with the imprint of her deceit on his mouth.

She has made it through this one day. Now all she needs to do is avoid him for the rest of his stay.

* * *

"I'll see you when I get back from London," John says as they stand outside the perimeter to Downton the next morning. "If I'm not back by the time you go home, then don't wait up for me."

"I can't promise that," she says; the thought of not getting a glimpse of her husband again until the following morning makes her stomach sour. She leans up to kiss him chastely while she still can, smoothing the lapels of his jacket. "Now, go on. Don't keep his lordship waiting."

He smiles slightly, bending down to kiss her one last time, then turns to limp inside the grounds. She hangs back for just a moment, admiring the breadth of his back and the way that he holds himself. He is beautiful, her man. She shakes her head and follows him, quickening her pace so that they can walk the final few steps together. Once inside, John turns in the direction of the upstairs rooms, and Anna continues on to the servants' hall.

There is already a huge bustle as people down cups of tea in one mouthful and grab at toast between tasks. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes are in the middle of bowls of porridge.

And there is Mr. Green. Of course.

"Good morning, Anna," he greets her.

"Good morning," she mutters, knowing that she can't ignore him in front of her superiors.

He shoots her that confident, unsettling smirk, which she doesn't return, busying herself with her cup of tea. She feels his eyes on her all through breakfast, and knows that his gaze darkens when she unconsciously licks butter from her bottom lip.

It's dangerous, too dangerous. And it needs to be squashed now.

She takes a shaking breath, pushing her toast away. She looks up and meets Mr. Green's eye.

"Mr. Green, would it be possible to have a quick word outside?" She tries to keep her tone light, but winces at the slight tremble.

His smile only widens. "Of course, Anna. Lead the way."

Now Mrs. Hughes' calculating gaze is on her as they both rise together, and she tries to ignore the utter shame that washes over her. They make their way to the back door, stepping just outside. Anna glances behind her to make sure that they are alone. She doesn't want to venture any further outside, and she doesn't want to disrespect John's wishes.

"What is it, then?" Mr. Green asks her, casually fishing out his cigarettes. She wrinkles as he lights up. His obnoxious attitude is more like Thomas' than John's. How had she ever thought any differently?

"I want you to leave me alone," she says lowly.

"Oh?" He cocks a questioning eyebrow at her. "And how do you expect me to do that?"

She fixes him with a bitter glare. "I imagine it's quite easy, really. You don't seek me out. You don't send me gifts. You don't speak to me. You don't even _look_ at me."

"Bates put you up to this, has he?" he asks lazily, flicking ash. "Jealous because he knows that he couldn't keep hold of you if he tried?"

"No!" she splutters, enraged. "_I'm_ saying it. I don't want you sniffing round me like a dog. I don't want you sniffing round me because I love my husband."

"Do you really?" he asks musingly.

Her frustration simmers higher. _"Yes."_

"But you let me kiss you."

She is gobsmacked for a moment, then springs into action like a fearsome lioness. "No, you took me by surprise. I didn't _let_ you do anything. There's a huge difference between the two."

"Does your husband know the difference?"

His words linger. His grin is sickly with his triumph. Her throat closes off. She has no answer for that.

"Yes, I suspected so," he comments lightly, as if he's talking about the weather. He drops his cigarette to the floor and squashes it with his heel. "Don't worry though, I'm not going to tell him."

"You're not?" Anna's heart leaps for a split second, barely able to believe it.

"No. It's our dirty little secret."

He turns and goes back inside before she can compose a response, and she is left feeling colder than ever.

* * *

The door to the cottage opens at half past ten. Anna puts down her book and turns on the sofa to see John entering the room, head stooped a little in the doorway. She smiles as happily as she can, watching as he undoes his collar and removes his tie.

"How was it?" she asks, standing to take his jacket.

"A long day," he groans, putting his arms around her. "His lordship spent _hours_ in his gentleman's club."

She giggles and nuzzles against him. "Poor you. Would you like me to make you anything? A pot of tea? A sandwich?"

"No, that's all right," he says. "I think I'll have a bath before bed, though. I need to wash off the train. How was your day, anyway?"

She feels the smile sliding from her face like grease. "Oh, the usual. Nothing to comment on."

"That's good," he remarks casually, though she knows who he's thinking of.

"John," she says warningly.

"I'm sorry," he sighs. "I'm being a fool."

"No. You _are_ being an overprotective man."

"Is that worse?"

She nudges him gently. "I quite enjoy it. Now, go on, get in that bath."

"Care to join me?"

His words send heat searing through her at once. "I don't know, we'll have to see. I might scrub your back."

He chuckles, though his eyes have darkened. "Well, that's an offer that I'll take you up on."

"Come on then, Mr. Bates. Get that water boiling. I'll get ready to assist you."

The way her hands creep up to the three little buttons at the top of her nightgown leave her meaning very plain. John sweeps his hand down her arm before leaving the room, the lust pulsing in his irises. Anna lingers for a moment longer, then turns down the oil lamp, plunging the room in darkness.

* * *

The day after passes smoothly enough. Mr. Green seems to have taken her warning on board completely, not giving her even one look at any time. John relaxes just slightly at this turn of events, and Anna is grateful for that. She herself is still just as wary as before, afraid that at any moment Mr. Green will go back on his word, but he doesn't. He focuses his attentions solely on the other maids, who giggle and fiddle with their necklines as he speaks to them, and Anna keeps her concentration fully on anything but him.

When she and John return home for the evening, he is in high spirits; she hears him humming in the bathroom as he readies himself for bed. He is still smiling when he enters the bedroom, and she rolls her eyes affectionately at him but says nothing, settling down on her side so that he can mould himself against her. He kisses her neck and strokes her stomach, and she knows exactly what he wants. Grinning herself, she wriggles in his embrace until she can push him onto his back, rising above him, teasing him until he's ready to take her, his own fingers working low over her. They kiss breathlessly and Anna's veins feel like they're on fire; the ending takes them both quickly. She rolls bonelessly from him, melding to his side. John brings his arm around her while she rests her head against his chest, and he is soon snoring away, his breath blowing against her ear. Anna smiles into the darkness and rests her ear more firmly over his heart, moving deeper into his embrace. She is brave enough to hope that everything will be fine.

"_Fortune favours the brave,"_ her mother had been fond of saying. Those words come back to her now as she lays there in the darkness, and she shivers despite the warmth that John's body is emanating. There had been a wisdom about her mother that had almost been disconcerting. Not always the kindest of women, she had rarely been wrong about anything. Anna had loved her and been in awe of her but had also feared her a little too; the darker parts of life that her mother had been fond of referencing had been too difficult for a little girl to comprehend.

_She's not always going to be right_, she tries to reassure herself. _And she's not here now. They're just daft sayings._

Yes, they are just sayings. But Anna can't quite make herself discard them entirely. She and John have always been brave, enduring every storm together, every terrifying hurdle put in their way. Each and every time, they have come through things stronger. But they've never had good fortune. Not really.

_My luck has changed,_ she thinks more fiercely. _John and I have the life that we've always wanted. We're _happy _now._

And they are. But she's been downright cowardly lately, and if fortune does favour the brave, then it won't favour her much longer.

* * *

Humming to herself, Anna puts down her button box, sliding into her usual seat in the servants' hall. She fiddles with her needle and thread, and is just relishing the solitude when she hears footsteps outside, coming closer. She huffs internally at already being interrupted, but then a smile erupts across her face when she realises that she can hear the familiar tap of a cane.

"Hello, Mr. Bates," she says teasingly when he appears in the doorway, carrying a pair of Lord Grantham's riding boots in his hands.

"Hello," he returns, resting against his cane and giving her that half-smile that she adores.

"What have you got there?" she asks.

He wrinkles his nose and holds them up. "His lordship wants to go riding with Lord Gillingham tomorrow. I thought that I'd better get these cleaned up now while I have the time."

She giggles, shaking her head. "Honestly, if you did them as soon as his lordship had finished with them, then you'd never have the problem. I have no sympathy at all for you."

He pouts at her, furrowing his brows. "You are a very cruel woman, Anna. I can't think what I saw in you in the first place."

"Oh, I'm sure that you can," she says as innocently as possible, offering him her most flirtatious glance to go along with her words. She hears his breath hitch even from here.

"Well, I've got to go outside before Mr. Carson catches me with these in here," he says, wisely changing the subject. "Would you care to join me in the sunshine?"

"I'd love to," she sighs. "But I'm almost finished with this, and I need to go up to the laundry room afterwards to make sure that Lady Mary has got everything she needs for dinner."

"Of course," he says. "Well, never mind. I'll be sure to see you at tea."

"And tonight," she says brightly, flashing him another look. His eyes darken, but he doesn't reply.

There is a scuffling sound from the hallway behind them, and they both stop talking at once, peering into the corridor. Anna feels a wave of frustration at the sight. Mr. Green. For the love of God.

"So we meet again," John says. His tone is cordial, too cordial. Danger lurks under the surface. "You seem to have developed the knack for knowing exactly when we're conversing, Mr. Green."

The other valet doesn't seem the slightest bit interested in what John is saying, brushing him off. "Yes, well. I've been looking for Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes. Have you seen either of them?"

"No," says Anna. "Why?"

"I need to pop into the village now, is all. I've got to collect something for Lord Gillingham, and I was hoping to tell them where I was going in case they needed me."

"One of us can pass on the news if we see them," she says.

"Would you do that? It would be most appreciated."

Anna nods. "Have a nice time."

"I'm sure I'll enjoy it. Goodbye."

They watch him walk away, and then John turns back to her. She offers him another smile, pushing her buttons back into her button box.

"Well, I'm all done here too," she says. "To the laundry room I go."

John winces. "And off _I _go to the delights of dried mud."

"Perhaps you'll finally learn your lesson."

He says nothing, waiting until she reaches him. And then he stops her with a delicate touch to the wrist, bending his head so that he can whisper in her ear, his lips brushing against her.

"Perhaps you can teach me that lesson when we get home."

She shivers, feeling the colour flood her cheeks. She hopes that she doesn't' run into the housekeeper before she's made it upstairs.

"It's a promise," she says.

* * *

The laundry room is a mess, and she sighs. Miss Baxter hasn't collected Lady Grantham's clothes yet either. Luckily for her, Lady Mary's clothes are ready, and she begins to gather them up in her arms, intending to take them straight to the bedroom ready for the evening.

Suddenly, there is a creak behind her.

Anna turns towards the sound, expecting to see Miss Baxter's harried face, rushing to complete the same task too.

Her blood runs cold.

"Mr. Green?" she gasps. "What are you doing here? You said you were going to the village!"

"I did, didn't I?" he muses. There is a glint in his eyes that she doesn't like at all. "I suppose that means no one will be looking for me for a while."

"Yes, that's very nice," she says hastily. "But I must be going back down now. People will start looking for _me_."

"People" he says. "Do you mean your husband? You needn't worry about him. He's happily scrubbing outside while you collect the clothes and I'm in the village. He'll be quite content to sit out there for hours thinking that I'm nowhere near you."

"I told you to leave me alone," she says, hitching Lady Mary's clothes nearer, as though that will protect her.

"I don't think so," he replies.

He advances on her. Anna backs herself up. She can smell the fear on herself, like the stench of cold.

"Anna Bates," he says ponderingly, and his voice is too silky, too _nice_.

Her back hits the wall. She drops the clothes and presses her hands against it, palms smearing sweat over the wallpaper, invisible streaks that will tell of her torment if only someone bothers to look close enough.

"Mr. Green, let me go," she says, and she hates herself for how small her voice is, like a little lost child's.

Mr. Green's smile only widens, becoming predatory. Anna would have felt less fear facing one of John's African lions.

"I don't think so," he repeats softly. "Because I know what you want deep down. And that's me."

"You're being ridiculous," she says, shrinking back as far as she can.

"Oh, I don't think I am," he replies. He is mere steps away now. "You've been leading me on ever since I first arrived here, teasing me, giving me hope."

"I've never teased you," she says.

"But you have. Didn't you take the love poems that I gave you? Didn't you read them and think about me?"

"I've never even opened the book!" she cries. "It's in the library upstairs because I don't _want_ it!"

His eyes flash, like a vulture's. And then his lip curls. "Now, now, Anna, there's no point in lying to me. I know what type of woman you are. Beguiling men with your innocence and then showing them that you're anything but. Does your husband know what a whore you are?"

Anna flinches. She'd never had such degrading insults thrown her way before.

"I can't say I blame you," he continues. "I mean, I had never expected you to be married to such a man as _that_. An old, useless cripple."

"John is none of those things!" Anna shouts, her voice high and hysterical, scrabbling to the side in a vain attempt to see if she can break past him.

"Johnny, Johnny, Johnny," he taunts. "Is that what you call him when you're together?"

She stays silent, chewing so hard on her lip that she is almost cutting through it, blinking away the tears that have suddenly sprung to her eyes. She won't give him the satisfaction. She _won't_.

"Of course," he deliberates, "it wouldn't surprise me if you didn't. Tell me, is he even capable of satisfying those womanly needs of yours?"

"Shut up," she hisses at him, though she knows that it is a bad idea to say anything that could rile him. "John is a million times the man that you could ever be."

Rather than incensing him like she'd thought it would, it only makes his smile widen. And now it is more predatory than ever, like in the pictures of the great white sharks that she's seen in books on exotic creatures.

"He's more of a man than I am, is he?" he asks. "Well, I think I'd like to test that out very much."

Too late, she realises that he's reaching to unfasten his trousers, the rustle of the material loud even over the pounding blood in her head, and the scream ripples up in her throat, silent, leaving her defenceless in the isolated pocket of silence.

And then he is upon her, and there is no way out. Anna closes her eyes and tries to dream of the seaside hotel John had promised her, but the sea runs red and the sky belches rain clouds, and she is drowning in it all.

* * *

When Anna reaches the cottage later that afternoon, she is in a daze. Unlocking the door, she crawls inside, abandoning her coat and hat by the stand, not even bothering to hang them up properly. She had told Mrs. Hughes that she was suddenly feeling very unwell, and the housekeeper must have seen the grey tinge to her face, for she'd given her permission to return home immediately. John had been called inside to answer one of Lord Grantham's requests, and she'd begged Mrs. Hughes to keep it to herself – she didn't want him to worry and insist on accompanying her home.

She doesn't want him to see the truth of the matter in her eyes.

She fills the bathtub with lukewarm water, a torturous task; moving up the stairs is agony, and she whimpers aloud, not bothering to hide the tears this time. With shaking hands, she peels off her clothes and throws them into the little basket that she likes to put all dirty washing in. The blood stains will have to be dealt with tomorrow. She can't face them tonight.

Deep down, she doesn't think she'll be able to face them tomorrow either.

Grabbing the soap, she sinks down into the bath, choking on her sobs as she lathers her cloth. She scrubs at her skin until she is red raw, closing her eyes to block out the sickening yellow hue that tinges the water.

She could scrub for a thousand years, but she will never come clean now.

* * *

She hears John unlatch the door at half past eleven. She is curled up on her side of the bed, wrapped in her gown and her shawl, the covers drawn up to her chin. She keeps her gaze fixed on the huge moon hanging outside their window, listening to the familiar sounds of John moving around below her. She imagines him slipping off his shoes, shrugging off his coat, hanging his cane up. Any minute now, he will be coming upstairs.

She isn't sure if she can face him just now. Not with everything that has happened. Not when her whole life has fallen so spectacularly apart.

She squeezes her eyes tightly closed, counting his steps towards the bedroom. She shrinks back further. Perhaps if she curls herself up tight enough, she can disappear completely.

The bedroom door creaks open, an ominous sound. John stands in the doorway, silent. She knows that he is taking in the sight of her, hunched up like a child. Eventually, he pads into the room. She feels the bed dip as he sits down beside her, and then his warm hand gentle on her back.

"Anna, love?" he says. "Are you all right? I was so worried when Mrs. Hughes said that you'd had to go home. You should have told me, I would have made sure that you got here safely. I would have got away sooner, too, but Mr. Carson was in a particularly foul mood, and I didn't want to make things worse. How are you, my darling?"

"I feel terrible," she manages, her voice thick with tears. It is the only truth she can tell him in this whole awful mess.

"Well, I'm here now. Whatever you need, I'm at your service. What about a cup of tea? A bite to eat?"

The tenderness in his voice almost destroys her. She scrunches up her face and almost chokes as she swallows. "No, I couldn't face it."

"All right, then. We'll just curl up and you can have a good night's sleep."

She won't sleep tonight. She isn't sure if she'll ever sleep again without reliving the whole ordeal whenever she closes her eyes. Living one big nightmare for the rest of her days. This time, she can't stop the tears from leaking from behind her closed lids.

"John, I think I need to be alone tonight."

She hears the rustle of his clothes cease. "What?"

More lies to spout. Will their entire marriage for the rest of time be based on them, warping them until she can't even recognise the beautiful relationship they'd once had?

"I just know that I'll keep you up all night with my fidgeting, and that's not fair to you."

"Anna, I don't mind that in the slightest. My main concern will always be you. What's a few hours' sleep compared to making sure that you're all right?"

"Please, John," she says. She is almost begging – _just like she had been earlier _–and John must have heard the desperation in her voice, because he backs off at once.

"All right, all right. If you're sure, then I'll take the spare room."

She can't bring herself to say anything else – she isn't even sure if she is _capable_ of saying anything else – and instead hugs herself tighter, unable to even turn around and meet his eye as he changes for bed. He bends down and presses a lingering kiss against her cheek when he's done.

"I love you," he says softly. "I love you so much."

She had never even thought that one day hearing those words would break her spirit entirely.

"If you need me, I'll be in the spare room. Wake me if you need anything. Anything at all. It doesn't matter what."

She nods, still unable to bring herself to look, and after just a moment more, John leaves her alone.

Everything is already beginning to fall apart. She knows that John is fretting in that way of his, his old doubts that have never quite been buried digging themselves out of their graves to haunt him all over again. _Has he done something wrong? Is she realising what a mistake she's made?_ They are things that he'll torture himself with all night, and she can't do anything to put it right. She'll never be able to put anything right between them ever again. She is damaged, useless. If John ever finds out the truth, then the whole world would fall apart. She is caught in a deadly web, stuck in the centre of it all, and she'll be left there to be swallowed whole, or suffocate herself in the process of trying to find freedom. Either way, everything that she and John have ever worked towards has been taken away in the cruellest twist of fate.

She burrows her head under her pillow to muffle her sounds, and sobs herself into oblivion.

* * *

**A/N: Trigger warning for rape, though it's not described in detail.**

This chapter was very difficult to write, and I hope that I handled it sensitively enough.


	6. Heart of Glass

**A/N:** A massive thank you to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter. It was the most nerve-wracking thing, posting that chapter, and your responses were overwhelming. Seriously, thank you so much. I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint.

**Warning: Obvious reference to the events of last chapter, and a potentially uncomfortable scene towards the end.**

**batesfan2 –** Well, I hope that John's reaction will be what you want it to be when he does find out. I don't think Fellowes would do it on the show, but who can really say for certain? Whatever happens, I'm still terrified of what he's got in store for them this series. :P

**Guest –** It was a difficult chapter to write, no question about that. And even though I feel a little guilty, it's good to know that I evoked such emotions in you – at least I succeeded in my job! I definitely agree with you about Anna always being strong for John, and having some role reversal would be nice. I don't want to give it all away, but I hope this chapter goes some way to answering some of your thoughts. And wow, thank you. I really hope that I can continue to do this story justice in the coming chapters.

**Guest 2 –** Thank you! I hope things go the way you want them to here.

**Guest 3 –** Yes, I agree with you there. Poor Robert. It's been a difficult story to write lately, so while it's a relief to know that I handled it well, I'm still worried about future chapters. Getting the aftermath right is just as hard. And while I know that some women do feel like that, I didn't want to go down that path with Anna and John, for reasons that I hope are clear and realistic too. I hope I can continue to handle this story realistically.

**Guest 4 –** Sorry for not updating before today. I hope a few of your fears can be settled (for now, anyway). In regards to other stories: this is the only one I'm working on consistently right now, other than a R/C oneshot, some self-mediating stuff, and _A Meeting of Fates_ for an hour once a week. So don't expect updates for anything else soon. Sorry. :(

**Guest 5 –** I don't think you have to worry to that extent. Or do you…?

Thank you for reviewing!

* * *

_6. Heart of Glass_

"I think I'm ready to return to work today," says Anna one week later.

John peers at her over the top of his book. "Are you quite sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," she says, though she knows that she isn't.

John has good reason to worry, too. Over the last week, she has barely eaten, picking at her food at home. She hasn't slept. Her eyes are gaunt and haunted. She promises him over and over that she's just been feeling very under the weather, probably a stomach bug that's just starting to pass. She knows that he doesn't quite believe her, but there's nothing that she can do about that.

She's allowed him back into her bed now, knowing that it would look suspicious if she continued to cite illness as the reason for not wanting him there. She knows that he's been having just as much difficulty sleeping at night. He still sleeps with his arm around her waist, but he is tense, lying at her back like a lifeless board. And she herself has lain there stiffly, staring sightlessly ahead, replaying each and every awful second of her experience in her mind. She knows that she'll drive herself mad if she continuously thinks about it, but there's no other option. She closes her eyes, and the scene is there before her eyes, almost as if she is endlessly viewing it from outside her own body.

She still cries, but now her time is limited. They come hot and fast and frequently when John leaves for work every day, and leave her puffy-faced and unable to breathe at night when John finally slips into slumber. But now she has to be strong, and so she buries the hurt and the pain and the humiliation deep down inside of her, locking it away out of sight, just like she's seen Lady Mary do on so many occasions.

Mr. Green is gone now, on an overseas venture to India with his master. After he'd cruelly defiled her, he'd left her lying on the floor as if absolutely nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, and that had been that.

"_It was nice knowing you, Mrs. Bates,"_ he'd said to her as he'd buttoned his trousers, and her disgrace had been complete. She couldn't have faced him again after that. Feigning illness had been the best way of avoiding him until he'd gone, and had given her time to gather herself.

Now, John moves to sit beside her on the sofa, stretching his arm around her and drawing her closer, kissing her temple.

"You know," he says, "you don't have to come back to work if you're not ready. Mrs. Hughes has already said that she'll cover for you for as long as you need. She knows that with you it'll be completely genuine."

"It's not fair on her," Anna argues. "How can I expect her to do all of my work as well as her own?"

"You did the work of a housemaid _and_ a lady's maid for years. I'm sure Mrs. Hughes can manage for a few more days."

"Stop being selfish," she snaps at him.

"How am I being selfish? I'm thinking of you!"

"Well, stop it. I'm not a china doll. I'm not about to break."

_You've already broken._

She shakes her head and grits her teeth, squeezing her eyes tightly closed.

"I wish you'd at least consider it," says John softly, moving his hand to stroke against her neck.

She pulls away from him as though he's burned her, her eyes flashing.

"Stop it," she chokes. "Just leave me alone."

"Anna, I'm only trying to help –"

"There's no point trying," she hisses. "I'm past that."

He sits up at once, his eyes both bright and dark at the same time.

"What?" he says urgently. "Anna, what do you mean by that?"

She's said too much, as she always does when she gets emotional. She rubs her forehead and turns away. "I don't mean anything. Now, I'm going to bed."

Before he can say another word, she slips out of the room. She leaves him staring after her, looking very much like he's been told that the world is ending.

* * *

He doesn't follow her to bed right away, and she's grateful for that, curling under the sheets as small as she can and breathing in deep and slow in an attempt to control both her temper and the tears. The bed is cold without John's presence beside her, but she burrows down stubbornly and sniffs. She can handle it.

She is just beginning to doze fitfully when the bedroom door creaks open. She jerks awake at once, senses blaring, struggling up as quickly as she can. That sound…she knows it all too well.

When her terrified gaze lands on the door, however, she finds that it's just John who is standing there, looking at her in confusion. She relaxes as best she can, offering him a tentative smile. He returns it. Neither of them speaks while he goes about undressing. She watches as he unbuttons his shirt and hangs it in the wardrobe. He reaches for his pyjamas and slips into them, then turns to clamber into bed beside her. She reaches up to give him an apologetic kiss on the cheek for snapping, and he urges her gently onto her side so that he can take his usual sleeping position up. Anna thinks that he won't say anything, but he does, drawing her even closer to him.

"I'm sorry," he says, kissing her cheek. "You know what you're up to better than I do. I won't argue with you again."

"I need to go back to work," she whispers as his arm drapes over her waist. "If I don't, I think I'll go mad. There's too much time to think here."

"What do you mean?" he asks again, but she shakes her head.

"I don't know what I mean. I'm tired."

"Then sleep," he says tenderly. "There's a big day ahead for you if you really _are_ coming back to work."

"I know," she says. "I'll need all the sleep that I can get to face it."

She doubts that all the sleep in the world could prepare her for what she has to face tomorrow.

* * *

Downton Abbey has never looked more foreboding.

The windows look like they're scowling down on her with their glassy stares. The creaking pipes seem to be laughing at her. The walls hold her pain a secret.

She stops short for a terrified minute, staring up at the building with a fear that is almost as great as the one that she'd felt when she'd been facing the prospect of living the rest of her life out without John there beside her.

She can't do this. She _can't_.

John's hand circles around her wrist, caressing her bone soothingly. She takes a deep, shaky breath.

She _must_.

"Anna, if you don't feel up to it, there's still time to go back home," he tells her worriedly. "You're as white as a sheet."

She swallows hard, strengthening her resolve. "I'll be fine. Now, come on."

He slips his hand into hers as they walk inside, and she doesn't try to shake him off, needing to draw her strength from him as she has so many times in the past. She can feel his anxious gaze on her every now and then as they walk, but she ignores it, knowing that she'll crack if she does look.

The first step inside the servants' quarters is torture. She takes a shaky breath and tries to quell the pounding of her heart, but her fingers don't seem to be able to function on the intricate buttons that run down the front of her coat. John is staring at her again as she struggles, and she wants to break down. But she swallows the lump of tears in her throat and perseveres with her task.

She's dreaded the first step into the servants' hall. She's imagined over and over again the looks that she'll get: the ones of disdain from the maids who will think that she's been lying, and the protective concern from Mrs. Hughes, who will more than likely badger her for all the details. She just wants everyone to treat her as normal. How will things ever go back to the way they were without that?

_Things will_ never_ go back to the way they were, Anna, and you know it._

"Anna, it's so good to see you!"

Mrs. Hughes' voice breaks through her thoughts, and she looks up to find the housekeeper striding toward her. Her eyes are warm, just like a mother's.

"It's wonderful to have you back."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes," she says. "It's good to be back."

Mrs. Hughes' eyes flicker, but she makes no comment. Instead, she leads Anna around the table as if she is incapable of doing it herself, and pushes a plate of toast towards her.

"Here, eat. You look as if you haven't touched a morsel in the whole week."

She barely has, and she doesn't think that she'll manage it now. Still, she dutifully brings a slice to her mouth and takes a tiny bite from the corner. Now John's eyes are on her too, assessing. She tries to keep her gaze on her plate, but, inevitably, it is drawn to the seat opposite her. The seat which Mr. Green had occupied, in which he had spent so many nights smiling and looking at her, concocting his final crime behind that friendly façade. She's starting to feel a little claustrophobic. The first wave of panic is coursing through her veins. How had she thought that she'd be able to do this? If the sight of an empty seat has her in such a state, then she'll never be able to keep up the appearance.

And then Lady Mary's bell rings, and she almost leaps to her feet with relief.

"I can go this morning, if you'd like," says Mrs. Hughes. "Give you time to eat your breakfast and settle back in."

"No, thank you, Mrs. Hughes," says Anna. "I've neglected my duties long enough."

She almost runs out of the hall, the gazes of her husband and the housekeeper still smarting.

* * *

"Anna!" exclaims Lady Mary as she enters the room, carrying her breakfast tray. "It's so good to see you."

"Thank you, milady," she says, moving to place the tray over her knee.

Lady Mary frowns, pausing in her shuffling. Her dark eyes bore into hers, and Anna feels as if her mistress knows exactly what's bothering her. She holds her breath.

But she only says, "Anna, without meaning to sound rude, you really do look terrible. Are you sure you're fit enough to work?"

"Of course I am, milady," she says as convincingly as she can, smoothing down the bed sheets around her. "I've rested quite enough."

"It doesn't look like you've rested much at all," Lady Mary returns, but she doesn't mean it unkindly. "What were you ill with?"

"A stomach bug," she says quickly. It's not a complete lie; just recalling the ordeal had had her leaning over the bathroom sink, white-knuckled and ghostly-pale.

"A stomach bug lasting for a whole week? Didn't you think that you should see Doctor Clarkson?"

"There was no need to."

"But what if it had turned out to be worse than just a sickness? Or _more_?"

Anna knows what she's implying, and resolutely blinks away the tears that threaten. "Really, milady, there was no need. I'm right as rain now, and I'm glad for it."

Lady Mary nods and says no more, but her eyes are watchful. Anna knows that she'll have to tread carefully if she wants to keep her mistress' suspicions to a minimum.

"How is Master George, anyway?" Anna asks, and is grateful when Lady Mary takes the bait, chatting about the things that her son has done in the week that has passed.

Perhaps, she thinks, perhaps she is strong enough to face this alone.

* * *

John stays close by all day, popping his head in on her when she is completing her tasks and preparing her tea for her when she goes to the servants' hall. She feels his eyes on her all through dinner, and she senses that he doesn't quite buy her cheerful façade.

Not that it's particularly convincing.

She laughs, but it sounds hollow. She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. She talks, but there isn't the usual timbre in her voice. If she notices these things, then surely he will too?

When it is time to leave for the night, he holds her hand tight and brings her as close as he can, as if he can soak the illness into himself to spare her the pain.

He can't. Because the pain will stay with her forever, draining from her soul like a leech.

They reach home, and John gently disentangles their fingers. Anna stands close while he fishes in his pocket for the key, unlatching the door. She's physically drained by the mental strain that she's put herself through. All she wants to do is curl herself up and sleep, forgetting about her plight for a few blissful hours. If that's even a possibility.

John guides her in with a hand on the small of her back, his touch feather-light. He closes the door behind them and plunges them into their own dark haven. He rustles his coat and hangs up his cane before removing hers too.

"How about a cup of tea?" he asks softly.

"Another one?" she says, trying to keep her tone light.

"I thought tea was good for sickness?" She can tell that he's trying his best to sound teasing too.

_Not for the sickness that I've got_, she thinks, but forces a smile. "Actually, I think I'll just have a cup of warm milk and then head up to bed."

"I'll get it for you, then."

She touches his arm briefly, feeling the muscles tremble under her touch. "No, I'll do it. You get yourself into bed. I'll follow you up soon."

"Are you sure?" he asks her worriedly.

"Yes, honestly. Go on."

He sighs but doesn't argue, bending down to kiss her sweetly. "All right. Don't be too long."

"I won't. I promise."

She stands in the hall and watches him ascend the stairs until he's out of sight.

* * *

Half an hour later, she pushes open the bedroom door quietly. The oil lamps are still burning, but they are low now. Shadows rule over most of the room. John is in bed. She steps nearer and notices the book beside him. Tenderly, she picks it up and places it on the bedside cabinet. Usually, he lies on his left side to alleviate the pain in his right knee, but tonight he is on his opposite side, facing the door. His snores are soft and regular as he snoozes. Evidently, he hadn't quite managed to wait up for her.

She keeps the lights low as she changes for bed, wrapping her gown around her body too. Then she bends down beside him, eyes searching his face as her bottom lip wobbles. He is perfect, her husband. The lines on his face are smooth as he sleeps, his hair mussed. He looks so innocently boyish that it almost breaks her heart. He might have his own suspicions about what's bothering her, but he won't have any idea just how terrible it is – and it hurts her more than anything. She had always been determined to be herself around him, to never let secrets wriggle their way into their relationship because there have been far too many of those. And yet the unthinkable is still happening.

Sniffing, she rises back to her feet and rounds the bed to her side. Sliding into bed beside him, she shuffles closer to him, letting her eyes drift over his broad form. For a moment, she hesitates, afraid that she'll contaminate him somehow, and then slides her arms around his waist from behind, holding him in much the same way that he usually holds her. She presses her face between his shoulder blades and inhales deeply, the familiar scent of soap and his lordship's cologne making her head spin. She closes her eyes and tries to concentrate on him, on the way that he shifts as he sleeps, trying to relish his warm weight. It's somewhat surprising to her, that she can have him so close to her after what had happened. But then she remembers that he is just John, her best friend, her lover, and her husband. And even if he doesn't know it, she needs him now more than ever.

Nothing else matters, just him. And she can't risk destroying his world completely by telling him about the things that happened with Mr. Green. She wouldn't be able to bear looking at him and seeing the defeat in his eyes, the extinguishing of their beautiful sparkle, and knowing that she was part of the reason why. It would kill her.

He can never know the truth. Grappling with it silently and praying that she somehow finds the strength to move on is the best that she can hope for now.

Hot tears threaten again, and with the greatest of efforts, she locks them back down. She has always been good at expressing her emotions. Perhaps it's now time to learn from the cold and careful Lady Mary.

* * *

The days pass. She fights on under the careful gazes of everyone. Sometimes she thinks that she'll break, but through some sheer miracle, she manages.

The tears are beginning to abate. She's cried all she'll be able to, she thinks. The last time she does is when she's asked to return to the laundry room for the first time since Mr. Green's assault. At the time, she'd been sure that she'd pass out there, for her head had felt non-existent and her very core had rebuked, desperate to be sick. Glassy-eyed, she'd stared at the place that would forever hold the silent marks of her terror and humiliation, and had been left shaking like a delicate flower at the mercy of the wind. How many people had stepped in here since that day, never even noticing the air that was ripe with her agony?

But, somehow, she'd survived. She'd disappeared into the attics afterwards to get it all out of her system, so she could at least be composed by the time she needed to face other people, but she'd managed it.

"_The strongest woman that I have ever known,"_ John had whispered to her on that first night in their cottage as he'd undressed her and clothed her with kisses instead, and perhaps she is, on some level. But she's also painfully weak, a crashing disappointment. If only she'd been strong enough to fight, then she wouldn't be in this predicament. If she wasn't weak enough to quiver at the thought of telling John the truth, then she wouldn't be keeping him with a lie.

_And what if he ever finds out?_

She pushes the thought away. He won't.

"Anna, may I have a quick word?"

She's collecting her things together when Mrs. Hughes' voice interrupts her. The housekeeper looks worried but resolute, and it makes her heart flip apprehensively in her chest. She doesn't need to ask what it's about, and there is no feasible way that she can get out of it. So she steels her nerves and holds her head high and follows her into her sitting room, lingering by the door when it's shut behind her.

"Take a seat," says Mrs. Hughes kindly, and Anna does as she's told, regarding her guardedly.

"Is there a problem, Mrs. Hughes?" she asks, seeing that the housekeeper is struggling to begin the conversation.

Mrs. Hughes sighs. "Not a problem, no. But I am concerned about you."

"Me?" She tries to feign innocence and fails miserably, her voice catching in her throat.

"Yes, you. You're worrying everyone, Anna. Lady Mary has expressed her concerns several times, and just one look at Mr. Bates tells me that he has no idea what he's going to do, or how to help you."

Anna feels a terrible, irrational pang of anger at the thought that they're all talking about her behind her back when none of them know what she's been through. This is swiftly followed by shame at the fact that she could be so bitter. It isn't who she is.

It _hadn't been_ who she'd used to be.

She fights to keep her face emotionless. "I'm afraid that I don't understand. Why would I need help?"

Mrs. Hughes looks mildly frustrated that she is choosing to play it this way. "You've lost the sparkle in your eyes, my girl. You don't laugh and smile the way you used to. And I'd wager that you've been much the same at home, given Mr. Bates' sombre mood."

Anna has no answer for that, dropping her gaze to the floor. The silence stretches on and on, almost swallowing her.

"Is there anything you want to tell me?" Mrs. Hughes has adopted her best motherly tone. Anna remembers her own mother. Would she have been weak enough to break in front of her? Would her own have told her to stop moping and continue on with her life? She'd been a hard woman at times. Just imagining her disgust strengthens her resolve.

"No, Mrs. Hughes," she says. "There's nothing."

Mrs. Hughes sighs, defeated. "Very well, then. Though I do wish that you'd tell that husband of yours, even if you'd rather keep it private from me. I'm sure he'll drive himself mad before the week is out."

"There really is nothing to tell," she maintains resolutely. "But thank you for your concern. It's touching, truly. I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Anna," sighs the housekeeper, and Anna quickly escapes, desperate to tend to her fresh wounds.

* * *

John is working late, so Anna returns alone to a cold cottage. She doesn't bother making a fire up, heading straight upstairs instead. She washes with cold water, and then slips into her night things. Her mind is still racing.

She's failed so appallingly at everything. She hasn't been keeping herself together. They can all see through her. How does she hope to keep everything together when they'll all be needling at her from now on, determined to make her crumble under the pressure of living a lie?

_You've got to. Somehow._

Below, she hears the front door open. John is home. She hears him moving about, and then he calls out for her.

"Upstairs," she calls back, and listens to him ascend. When he reaches the doorway, she can only stare. There is a flash of determination in his eyes. Her first thought is that Mrs. Hughes has told him about their meeting.

As though he can read her mind, he ventures further into the room.

"I saw you coming out of Mrs. Hughes' sitting room," he says quietly. "Please, talk to me."

"John, really," she says as exasperatedly as she can, internally preparing herself for another battle. "There's nothing to talk to you about."

"Then what did Mrs. Hughes want you for?"

"She was just telling me about some of Lady Mary's new requirements for dinner tomorrow."

"That's it?"

"Of course it is. What else would there be?"

"I don't know," he mutters. "And that's the problem. I know you, Anna Bates, and the woman that I've been sharing my life with recently isn't her."

She lowers her eyes, hating herself for making him feel such a way. She's supposed to be shielding him, not delivering the fatal blows.

"I'm sorry," she says. "It's just that I've been feeling so out of sorts recently that it's been affecting my moods. I'll try harder, I promise."

"I don't want you to try harder. I want you to talk to me and let me share your burden."

"I love you," she says, feeling the tears behind her eyes again.

He moves closer to the bed. "I love you too."

She can tell that he wants to say more, so she rises up on her knees, slipping his jacket from his shoulders. His gaze meets hers, and she holds it as best she can.

"What do you need?" he asks her. His voice is raspy.

She needs a million things, most of which seem impossible. But she needs to distract him from his line of questioning more pressingly, and there is only one way to do that.

"I need you, John," she breathes. "All of you. Make love to me."

His eyes widen, and she feels his heart begin to speed up below the layers of his clothes. "Are you sure?"

She swallows the lump in her throat, trying to breathe normally through her nose. "Yes, I'm sure. It's been far too long since we last did. I've missed it."

He offers her a tentative smile. "I've missed it too."

"Then what are you waiting for?" She doesn't quite manage to master her usual flirty tone, but he still shudders when she runs her hands over his shoulders.

He lowers his mouth to the corner of hers, and she scoots back onto the middle of the bed. He follows her at once.

"Do you promise to talk to me later?" he asks.

"Later," she confirms. She knows that he'll be too sleepy to bring it up again tonight, and that will give her more time to prepare.

"All right, then," he says.

She moves her fingers to his shirt to help him open the buttons, keeping her gaze trained there. She can almost believe that her fingers are trembling with desire as they have done on so many other occasions. John bends his head to nuzzle softly against the shell of her ear, and she works hard to stop herself from tensing, internally cursing. If she can't even bear the most loving of touches, then she has no hope of fooling him when it comes down to actually making love.

He fights to rid himself of his shirt when she's undone the last button, and she takes the opportunity to take a deep, steadying breath, steeling herself for what is to come.

_Everything will be all right,_ she tells herself._ It's just John._

Yes, it's just John. Her husband, the most considerate lover that she could have hoped for. She runs her palm down the chest now revealed to her, re-familiarising herself with the coarse hairs that pepper there generously. He is moving to kiss her ear, his hands running gently up and down her sides. She clings to his shoulders as he moves lower, staring straight up at the ceiling above her head. He is whispering words against her, but she can't hear them over the fearsome pounding of her heart.

His fingers find the hem of her nightgown, and he begins to drag it up her body. They catch her chilled skin as they move. By now, heat would usually be searing through her body, but his touch only makes her colder. She lifts her arms mechanically when the nightdress reaches her head, and he tosses it over the side of the bed, returning his lips to the sensitive spot on her neck. She squirms, hiding her face in his hair. His hands move lower, hooking into the band of her undergarments. The breath shudders from her body. This is it. There is no going back now.

The undergarments slide down her legs. He brings his head up to gaze at her.

"I love you," he says, sweeping his thumb tenderly underneath her eye.

She tries to get the muscles in her face to co-operate into a smile, but all she manages is a tentative quirk. She knows that she had to distract him before he notices, and moves her hand low over him. He hisses in delight, head tilting backwards. Her resolve strengthens. She can do this. She can focus on his face and do this for him. He is the one who matters.

She is unprepared, however, for the hand that begins to snake down her own body. Her stomach tightens, her limbs stiffen. He wants to test if she is ready for him, and then he'll _know_ that something is wrong. Because she isn't the slightest bit responsive to his touches, and that is something that has never even once happened to her before.

He is trying to part her thighs, and she can't get them to relax. She squeezes her eyes tightly closed as he slips his hand between. And he is there, pressing behind her closed lids. That awful grin on his face as he'd forced himself somewhere that he was never meant to go. The pounding of her blood in her head had transformed into his heavy, brutal pants for breath. And then there had been the hard pressure of his mouth over hers, almost preventing her from breathing, certainly preventing her from screaming.

And it's happening again now, because there is a mouth over hers and her world will end forever this time –

She struggles ferociously, with every ounce of panic and strength that she has within her. Her flailing elbow smacks into his jaw, and she feels him topple to the side, obviously caught unaware.

"_No, no, no!"_ she almost screams, her voice high and reedy and desperate. _"Please don't, please don't!"_

"Christ above, Anna, are you all right? What's wrong?"

The voice is not Mr. Green's mocking one, and her eyes fly open at once as she takes panicked, unrelenting breaths. There isn't enough air. But the face before her is not Mr. Green's, with his lip curled in a doggish sneer, but John's own face, as panicked as she is feeling.

She bursts into hot, terrified tears.

"Love," he says, "oh _lord_ –"

She brings her hands up to her eyes, pressing hard into them with the heel of her palms, mouth twisting and curling as she sobs. In the next instant, John's arms have encircled her. She half-expects herself to flinch away from him and beg him not to touch her, but she surprises herself by collapsing completely against him, her head buried under his chin, body convulsing as she chokes.

"What's wrong?" he asks her frantically. "Anna, my darling, please tell me –"

She shakes her head as best she can, bringing her arms down to wrap around him properly. She is all too aware of her naked state against him, and this only intensifies her feelings of shame. He drops kisses into her hair, clearly at a loss of what to do, and her fingernails dig deep into his skin as she tried to reassure herself that this is reality, that nothing can harm her here, that everything will be all right.

_How is everything going to be all right? How is _anything_ going to be all right?_

When the hysteria has died down just a little, John gently pushes her back. The tears are still flowing freely, but she tries to stifle her sobs as he gazes at her. Her hands automatically go around her chest, and she draws her knees up, desperately hunching over in an attempt to hide the ugly truth from him. His eyes soften despite the hard worry, and he leans over the bed to reach for her nightgown, setting it right before slipping it over her head. He dresses her like a dazed child, and then he circles his arms around her waist, pulling her closer.

"Anna, you need to tell me exactly what's wrong," he says.

She shakes her head, staring sightlessly past him. "I'm fine, honestly. I don't know what came over me."

"Anna, that's a pathetic lie and you know it," he says, and then winces when he realises just how harsh his tone had been. He softens it then, finding one of her hands and enveloping it in his. His thumb strokes her knuckles, and he squeezes lightly. "I need to know what's bothering you, no matter what it is. I won't take no as an answer anymore."

"John –"

"No," he interrupts her. "I've been the worst kind of husband possible. I knew that something was bothering you, and I didn't push to find out. I'm a pathetic, useless –"

"Don't," she chokes. "Don't you dare say it. This is all my fault. Everything is my fault."

He shakes his head, pressing a fierce kiss against her temple. "Never, Anna. If there's one thing that I've learned over my life, it's that you could never be in the wrong for anything."

He won't see it like that, not when he knows the dirty truth. How he'd almost sullied himself unknowingly because of her deceit.

"You need to tell me now," he pushes gently. "For the longest time, you have been my rock. Let me be the same to you. I want you to know that whatever's bothering you, I will be there to support you."

"You wouldn't be saying that if you knew the truth," she sniffles.

"Of course I would. I love you, and nothing is ever going to change that."

She shakes her head, barely able to see him through the tears shimmering in her eyes. And then the penny seems to drop.

"Anna," he says slowly, "has this…has this got anything to do with Green's visit?"

Her bottom lip wobbles uncontrollably, staring at him with a kind of trepidation that is surreal.

"It has," he says without waiting for an answer. "Anna…?"

She throws herself into his arms, unable to bear the look on his face as the horror and the ignominy sweeps across her. He squeezes her more tightly than he ever has done before, almost as if he is afraid that she'll melt into nothing if he lets go. She has no intention of letting go either, her arms around his neck and her forehead pressing desperately against his shoulder. If this is going to be the last time that she gets to hold him, then she needs to savour it as much as she can, given the circumstances.

"That day he went missing for the afternoon," he continues, still speaking slowly as he tries to put all of the pieces together. "When he said that he'd gone to the village for something for Lord Gillingham. And you went home ill…"

She can't hide the truth from him any longer. All of her sins are coming back to haunt her.

"He came into the laundry room," she says, voice wavering and hitching as she tries to explain herself. She keeps her head pressed against his shoulder, muffling her words against him, as if that will spare him the worst of it.

John's arms tighten around her further. "And…?"

She bites hard at her lip, squeezing her eyes tightly shut, unable to say another word.

"Anna, did he…did he force himself on you?"

The emotion in his voice is almost too much to bear, and his words cut through her like a bayonet. Her silence seems to give him all the confirmation he needs.

"Jesus Christ," he murmurs. His voice is shaking now, and she suspects that there are tears of his own. She keeps her forehead pressed against his shoulder as his hand comes up to cradle the back of her head. How does she expect him to respond to that? She knows there isn't any way he can.

"I'm sorry," she sobs. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Don't you dare apologise," he says, tone sharp as a slap.

She shrinks at his harsh manner, whimpering, and then he is pulling away from her. This is it. The moment that she's been dreading. He won't want her now that she's so damaged.

But his eyes are soft despite the dark edges, and he brushes the sweaty hair from her temple with such tenderness.

"None of this is your fault," he says. "_None_ of it. That…that _bastard_ forced you into something that you never wanted. And if one of us is to blame, then it's me. I didn't raise my concerns with Mr. Carson, and now look what's happened." His voice cracks.

"No," she whispers, sniffing hard. "It's not your fault."

He brings her back to his shoulder, and she goes like a rag doll, exhausted. She is still shivering, tears rolling down her scalded cheeks. He puts his head to hers, his own frame shaking with his devastation, and they hold onto each other for dear life, as if they are lost in the middle of the sea, at the mercy of the tide. Where they will end up, she doesn't know. All she can do is pray that they won't be smashed to pieces on the unforgiving rocks.

* * *

**A/N:** I really hope that this was okay.

I'm taking a mini-break from posting this 'fic. But don't worry, it's all for a good cause: I want to try and write a bit more so that I'm a further ahead. We'll see how far I manage to get.


	7. Terrible Things

**A/N:** Mini-break over, back to the usual updates. Also, the series four trailer and new spoilers made me feel sick and stuff. Scared now.

**batesfan2 –** Well, you're getting your wish here in terms of where the story picks up. :) As for the Green, well, I had to get him out of the way, otherwise I'm certain John would have marched up to Downton and hauled him outside, and the results probably wouldn't have been pretty. In terms of your other questions…I suppose you will have to read on and find out (and hopefully won't be too disappointed! :P)

**Guest –** Well, I am getting an Oscar, but not in the usual way. ;) In fact, I'm getting an Oscar with four legs, a tail and a lot of fur. In all seriousness, though, sorry for making you cry! Well…mostly.

**Guest 2 –** Sorry for taking the break! I'm back now. Glad you liked the last chapter. And now you don't have to wait any longer to find out what they'll do now. :)

**Guest 3 –** Thank you! I'm glad you think I handled it okay. In terms of the point of view, while the story is mostly from Anna's point of view, I have decided to venture into John's in a couple of instances, so I hope you think that they work (and aren't too jarring).

**Guest 4 –** It was the only way I could think of to get Anna to break her resolution, so I'm glad you thought it worked. You will have to read on to find out how John continues to handle it…:)

**Guest 5 –** Aww, thank you! That means a lot to me. :)

**Guest 6 –** The trailer scared me witless and made me want to forget all about this story, haha. :P But the show must go on, I guess.

**Guest 7 –** Well, you didn't get an update when you wanted one, but you can have one now. :)

Thank you all for taking the time to review!

* * *

_7. Terrible Things_

John knows that he won't sleep tonight. Sometimes, his insomnia rears up unexpectedly, leaving him staring into the darkness.

There's nothing unexpected about it tonight.

Anna has thankfully slipped under the veil of sleep. Her head is buried right in the crook of his neck, as though it offers all the protection in the world. One of his hands sits on her hip, stroking a soothing circle there with his thumb. Gently, he eases her away from him.

Her face is streaked with tears. Her hair sticks to her reddened cheeks. Her eyelids are puffy, and her breath issues from her mouth because her nose is blocked. She looks so young and vulnerable, much more so than he has ever seen her before.

Bile rises in his throat. How had he let this happen right under his nose? How had he sat outside scrubbing at dirt when his beautiful Anna had been inside, forced into a situation that has broken her?

The rational part of John's mind tells him that he's not fully to blame either, but it doesn't stop the waves of self-loathing. He had promised himself that he would always protect her no matter what, and he has failed. He has failed in the most horrific of ways. He should have done more. He should have acted as soon as he'd realised that Green was making subtle advances on his wife. He'd been worried about Anna finding herself alone with him, and his fears had proven to be right.

_So why didn't you do more to stop it? Why didn't you tell Mr. Carson the moment you suspected more than just harmless flirting?_

Because he's a weak, useless man, that's why. He'd been afraid of irritating Anna with his constant overbearingness, and had instead tried to keep a distance, not wanting to create disharmony between them. He'd trusted Anna to take care of herself, because her strength of character has always been a pillar in their marriage, the one thing that he has always relied on.

He'd never realised just how fragile it was before now, and his stomach turns just thinking about how much he's taken her for granted, the height of the pedestal that he's placed her on, leaving her to think that she had no choice but to cope with it alone.

He thinks on Green now, of the way that his eyes had always lingered over Anna, of the way that he had never been far behind her. He had been jealous of the attention that she'd been garnering from him, not because she didn't deserve it, but because of the way that it had made him feel. She might have been more than happy settling for him, but John knows that she could have done far better. And if she'd realised that too…

He squeezes his eyes tightly shut, choking back a sob in order not to disturb her. How he wishes that she _had_ been a willing participant. It hurts him to think about her enjoying intimacies with another man, biting at her lip softly and clutching at his shoulders, wrapping her legs around his waist to draw him closer like she does for him. But it hurts a million times more to know that she'd been through unimaginable pain, that somebody hadn't given her the respect that she deserves.

The anger that he feels is raw and almost overwhelming. If he could, he'd travel over to India tomorrow, hunt down the bastard, and tear him limb from limb for hurting the most precious woman in the entire world. If he ever sees the man – a title that he doesn't deserve at all – again, then he will show him exactly what happens when Anna gets hurt.

But, for now, he has to remain calm. Anna doesn't need to see his anger. It will only scare her, and more fear is the last thing that she needs. She'd been scared of Green. He doesn't want her to be scared of him, when he wants nothing more than to sweep her up and make the pain go away.

He brings a shaking hand up to her hair, smoothing it from her cheek. He lays a lingering kiss against it, his mouth quivering. They have to deal with this somehow. They need to come to terms with the things that she has gone through. First, she needs space to accept the things that she's told him. The last thing he wants to do is crowd and suffocate her. She needs room to breathe.

Their life has never seemed so dark. But they have to find their way through it. He knows the truth now, and he won't leave her to cope with this alone.

* * *

Anna's sleep is fitful, and she jerks awake with a start. Dawn has not yet arrived. She stiffens when she feels John's arms around her, and she slowly raises her eyes to his, unsure of how to react. She and John hadn't exchanged anything after her revelation; he had simply held her as she'd cried. She is grateful for him not pushing her for answers when she'd been too exhausted to discuss it further, her shame and humiliation at breaking her promise to keep silent stinging her. But she knows that he will want to talk about it now, and she has to accept that.

His eyes are on her at once. One look at him tells her that he hasn't closed his eyes all night; the shadows underneath darken them further.

"Good morning," he says tentatively.

"Good morning," she echoes, turning her face into his chest and breathing in the comforting scent of his body. His chest hair is coarse against her cheek, and she rubs herself against him like a cat, trying to reassure herself.

His hand splays against the back of her neck, his fingers soft. She knows that he's trying to coax her into sitting up. Taking a deep breath, she does as he wishes, drawing the sheets up to her chin. John follows suit, keeping his hand on her as they re-adjust themselves. A terrible silence overtakes them as they sit there, keeping their gazes away from each other.

John sighs, and runs his spare hand through his hair. Anna turns to look at him, mentally preparing herself for the anguish and pain that she's sure will be ingrained in his gaze.

It _is_ there, and it stabs at her heart, greater than any pain that she's ever felt in her life. She bites at her lip and lowers her eyes, unable to look at it for a second longer. It will destroy her if she does.

John, however, has other ideas, gently reaching under her chin and tilting her head back. She's forced to witness it all over again, and bites her lip all the harder. He sweeps his thumb over her mouth and gently encourages her to let go, rubbing at the angry red mark that she's left in her wake.

"You know what I'm going to say, don't you?" he says quietly.

She nods, agonised. "You want to talk."

"I do. I need you to tell me everything."

She whimpers, shaking her head. "I can't."

"You can, Anna. I know you don't want to think about it, and God knows that I don't want to put you through that again either, but I need to know everything. For my own sanity."

She isn't sure that it will help his sanity at all, but she knows that he'd rather know than drive himself mad thinking of every single way that it might have come about.

"All right," she says softly. Her eyes trace the patterns on the duvet.

John's arm comes to rest around her waist, careful not to seem too demanding. "In your own time, Anna. Take as long as you need. I'm not going anywhere."

She takes a deep breath, reassured by his words but knowing that she doesn't have time to think about it; if she does, she will stall and shut down. It needs to be explained as quickly as possible, raw pain and all.

"He…he came up to the laundry room after you'd gone outside. I was in there sorting out Lady Mary's things, and he closed the door behind him. I tried to stop him, honestly I did. I told him that people would be looking for me, and that I had to go back down. But he…he blocked the door." Tears are threatening again now as she closes her eyes and remembers each horrific, minute detail. They fill her head. She's sure that she can smell the stench of her fear again. "He said that you wouldn't be looking for me because you thought that he was in the village. He…he goaded me. He said some horrible things. And then he…he…"

"All right, that's enough," says John, and she hadn't even realised that she is crying until now, those hot, shamed tears running down her face once more. His tone is sharp again. She'd been creeping her hand towards his, but now she stops short, sure that he won't want to take it. Not when she's been sullied in such a way.

But then he reaches out and completes the motion, clasping her hand with such gentleness that it almost breaks her all over again. There is no judgement in his touch, just sympathy.

"That's enough," he repeats, more calmly this time. "I don't want you to have to relive it all like that. I know enough."

He might think he knows enough, but he doesn't know the worst of it. He doesn't know what a weak woman he's married. She opens her mouth to continue, determined to press on and clear her conscience because now the dam has been broken, she can't keep the secrets any longer.

The shrill scream of the alarm clock interrupts them. They both jump, scrabbling blindly as if they're being attacked, and then John manages to reach out and slam it off. Resounding silence is left in its wake. She notices that he's shaking, his head bent as he tries to compose himself.

"It's time to get up," he says quietly. "Would you like to stay here? I can tell Mrs. Hughes that you took ill again in the night."

"No," she says. "No, I'll come."

"But –"

"I have to," she pleads. "I can't stay here alone all day. It's all I can think about, every awful thing he said to me, every vile way that he _touched_ me –"

"All right, all right," John quickly appeases, and she realises that her hands have risen to her head, clutching at the hair near her scalp painfully.

John's hands rise up too and gently disentangle her fingers. His thumbs caress the tears from her cheeks, before pulling away from her.

"Let's get dressed, then," he says gruffly. "We don't want to be late."

Anna watches him move stiltedly to collect his clothes. He casts her one last backwards glance, and disappears to shave. She pulls the sheets tighter around her body, taking a deep breath. She can tell that John is at a loss at what to do about the whole thing – quite rightly. But his pain is her fault. The dullness of his eyes. The strain in his smile. The stoop in his shoulders. The years that have sprung on him overnight. All down to her.

As she watches him walk away, she knows that she's sitting in the ruins of their marriage.

* * *

Outside Downton, John brings them to a pause. He shifts from foot to foot. She notices how tightly he's gripping his cane, even through his leather gloves.

"How are we going to break this to Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes?" he asks quietly. "Should I do it?"

She stares at him for a moment, genuinely mystified. "I'm sorry?"

"Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes," he clarifies. "They need to be informed."

"No, they don't."

"Of course they do. Mrs. Hughes has been curious ever since…that day. I don't think I can keep the pretence up. She's going to know something's wrong, and she won't stop until she learns the truth."

She twists her mouth, turning away from him. "No one else can know, John."

"But why? She might be able to help you."

_Why? Because you don't want to?_ she thinks bitterly. "Do you understand what that will be like for me? Having to explain what happened all over again? Having to look at the pity in their expressions every day for the rest of my time in service? How am I supposed to have any hope of moving on if every day I see yet another reminder of what happened?"

John remains silent, obviously at a loss as to how to argue with her. Perhaps she's not worth the effort any longer. She swallows hard, bowing her head. Behind her, she hears John sigh, a long, drawn-out sound.

"All right," he says softly. "If that's what you want, then that's what we'll do."

She can tell that he doesn't agree with her, but he doesn't understand, not the way she does.

It's the way it has to be.

* * *

Now the both of them move around Downton like apparitions, disconnected from the world. It is noticed by the other members of staff, of course; Mrs. Hughes shoots them both worried looks whenever she clamps eyes on them. She tries to take Anna aside but she manages to shake her off, and she knows that the housekeeper tries to do the same to John too, although he manages to evade her just as well. Some of the others aren't quite as kind in their observations.

"Not the marital bliss that you'd thought you'd be having?" Thomas asks lazily through a ring of smoke as he reclines leisurely at the table. "Oh well, it had to happen at some time or another."

Anna lowers her head to contemplate the table top, then snaps it up again at once as she hears John's chair scrape back from the table.

"You know nothing," he snarls. "And I suggest you keep your nose out of it."

He leaves the hall then, the click of his cane resounding in the silence left behind. Luckily, Anna had been the only one to witness the outburst. Thomas looks slightly taken aback by John's sudden outburst of temper out here in the servants' hall, and stubs his cigarette out venomously.

"Bastard," he mutters.

"Leave him alone," Anna says softly.

Thomas' eyes are on her at once, watchful now. "Why should I?"

"Please, Thomas. If you have any decency at all, you will."

She gets up then and leaves him at the table, staring after her.

* * *

Later, John finds her as she sorts through Lady Mary's wardrobe. His eyes look hollow with the weight of everything that she's asking him to endure. She wonders how much longer he can cope.

"Mrs. Hughes cornered me," he says without preamble, staying by the door. "She expressed her concern for the both of us. She said that she knew something was wrong, and that she wanted to help."

"And what did you say?" she asks, suddenly fearful.

"What could I say? I had to lie. I said that you'd had bad news from one of your sisters. That's why I'm here, to warn you in case Mrs. Hughes comes looking for you too. I don't want you to be unprepared."

_Here to warn, nothing more. Not to see how you are._

She doesn't even bother trying to force a smile. "Well, thank you for that."

He hesitates for a moment, and she wonders if he might speak. But in the end he only shakes his head and turns away.

"I'd better get back to his lordship's new dinner jacket," he says. "I'll see you at tea."

She watches him walk away.

* * *

The walk home is largely silent. They walk side by side, but Anna doesn't fail to notice the extended gap between them. The wind blows between their bodies. She daren't reach out and take his hand.

Mrs. Hughes had cornered her, as predicted. Her tone thick with worry, she'd begged to be told what was wrong. Anna had lied. The tales had spun so easily from her mouth. It's almost second nature to her now. She'd told the housekeeper that her sister had suffered a traumatic miscarriage, and was struggling to come to terms with it. She herself was beside herself with worry, but her sister hadn't wanted her help, so she'd kept quiet.

She feels sick at the thought of what an awful lie she'd told. There's no wonder God isn't showing her mercy. Heinous lies come from the devil.

Once at the cottage, John lingers in the doorway, wasting time smoothing down his coat and hanging up his hat. Anna stands by the staircase, hands clasped, wondering how to breach this awkwardness.

"Do you want a drink?" she asks.

"No, thank you. I think I'll head straight up to bed."

She nods, remembering that he hadn't even slept one wink last night. Her fault again. "All right. I might have a cup. I'll follow you soon."

He nods, opens his mouth like he's going to say something, sighs, and then turns to head up the stairs, leaving her alone.

* * *

She sits at the table, staring across at where her husband should be, nursing the cup between her hands. It scalds her palms, but she doesn't remove them. Her heart pounds in her chest. She is scared of going upstairs. She is scared of facing reality.

_What's reality? How can you even have a perception of it anymore?_

She sniffs miserably; she doesn't need to have a perception of it to know that John will leave her. He won't want to be married to someone like herself.

_Men like to know that their women are unsullied,_ she remembers her mother telling her when she'd been sat down as a wide-eyed young girl, the facts of life being drilled into her before her time at Downton had started. _It's one of the most important things to them. Keep yourself pure for your wedding night, and don't let anyone lead you astray. It will only bring ruin if you do._

And now John has the knowledge that another man has touched her. It doesn't matter that it wasn't wanted. She'd seen it in his eyes. The revulsion.

She wonders how he'll bring up the subject with her. Will he try to release her in that noble, gentlemanly way of his, or will he choose to simply state it instead, too hurt to do anything else? She thinks the former will damage her the most. It will only remind her more of what she's losing.

She sniffs loudly, pushing away her tea. She doesn't want it anymore. Instead, she lays her hands flat on the table in front of her, contemplating her wedding ring. It glistens on her finger. It fits so perfectly. She closes her eyes and remembers the way that John had looked as he'd placed that ring there. She remembers how it had felt to have it slide down securely, the circle of eternal promises.

Slowly, she works her right index finger and thumb over the metal band. She chokes back an agonised sob as she slides it up. This is the worst pain that she's ever faced in her life. And then it is off, held away from its rightful place. Her left finger looks empty without it.

_You should get used to it._

The end of them. No more Anna and John Bates. She'll lose the person that she was always meant to be forever, and it's all down to her own stupidity.

She can't bear to face John again. Not now. But she knows that she must.

She takes a deep breath, wiping the tears from her face. Her lip quivers, but she clasps her hand tight around the ring – so tight that it cuts into her palm – and pushes her chair back.

She needs to tell John the whole story. Even though it won't change the outcome, she can't let them part without knowing that she held up her own personal vow of always telling him the truth.

It's too little, too late, but it's all she can do.

* * *

When she pushes open the bedroom door, she finds John standing by the window. He hasn't even got changed for bed yet; he's made it as far as his undershirt. She watches as he leans against the window, forehead pressed against the glass, his frame hunched over. For a moment, her courage fails her, and then she pushes forward.

"John?" she says. Her voice is so quiet that she thinks it will be lost in the space between them. "I need to talk to you."

Slowly, he turns away from the window. His eyes are black and hollow. He nods his head, then shuffles over to the bed. After a moment's hesitation, she follows him, perching herself stiffly on the edge.

"There's more to the story," she says.

He seems to understand exactly what she's talking about, for his eyes leap up to hers at once. "What?"

She takes a deep breath, willing herself to stay calm. "All of this is really my fault. I encouraged him."

"Encouraged him…" John's voice trails off. He sounds confused. And she can detect the first note of panic beneath it all. "What do you mean?"

"I didn't stop him from flirting with me. He gave me a book of poems, and I put it in the library to get rid of it instead of giving it him back. And then…then he kissed me, and I kept it from everyone. I kept it from _you_."

In the aftermath of her confession, John only stares at her. His face is an agonising fog of emotions. She can't keep looking at him. She drops her gaze to the floor.

"He…he kissed you?" he asks, and unlike his face, there is no emotion in his voice. "When?"

"When he was first here," she says miserably. "On his last day. We were alone in one of the upstairs corridors together. I pushed him away as soon as he did, but I was worried about how to tell you. And then I thought that that was the end of him, so no harm was done."

"Why on earth didn't you tell me when you found out he was coming back?"

"Because too much time had passed then. You would have wanted to know why I hadn't told you straight away. And I was afraid that you'd cause a scene and get yourself into trouble." Her mouth twists bitterly. "Not that that makes any difference now."

"This could have been prevented," he says, almost to himself.

"I know that!" she cries, and is embarrassed to hear the tears in her voice. "I _know_!"

John takes a deep breath, scrubbing his hand over his face.

"Someone hurt you," he says in a low voice. "Even when you said no, he still took liberties."

"And I did say no," she says. Her voice is trembling so badly that she wonders if he'll be able to understand her. "Right back when he kissed me, I told him to leave me alone because I love you."

"I know you do," he murmurs, and now there is emotion in his voice. "I know." He reaches out a shaking hand between them and takes hold of her left hand. The first touch is like a burn, then a balm as he slowly but surely links their fingers together. A solid connection.

And then his eyes widen. He drops her hand. She wilts.

"Anna," he says, and his voice is more panicked than she's ever heard it, "where's your wedding ring?"

Her eyes slowly meet his. "I took it off. I understand that this is too much for you. I'm sorry."

"Give it to me," he demands. There are definitely tears now. "Please."

So this is the moment that her life ends for good. Resigned, Anna unclasps her right hand and drops the ring into his outstretched palm. It's so small in his large hand. It makes its significance all the more ironic. Who will she be now? Anna Bates is no longer an option. Will she have to try to force herself back into Anna Smith's skin? A skin that will chafe and suffocate and sap away her life?

John shifts beside her, and she snaps her eyes back to him at once. He's getting off the bed. Now he'll leave the room and her world will collapse completely.

But he doesn't. He grips hold of the side of the bed and grimaces as he kneels on his left knee, keeping his right knee bent to keep his weight off it. It looks like an odd parody of a proposal – the traditional one that she hadn't had – and she can't take her eyes from him. Her heart bangs against her chest like a caged rabbit, then breaks free and races off into the night.

He reaches out for her left hand, taking hold of it so gently that tears spring up anew. They're both shaking in tandem. He encourages her fingers to spread, then somehow manages to hold her wedding ring in between his thumb and forefinger.

"Never take this off again," he tells her lowly. "Do you understand?"

Anna blinks. Tears spill. "But I thought…"

"For richer, for poorer, for better, for worse," he reminds her, then tries to slide the ring on. Emotion has made his big fingers clumsy, and she holds her breath until he finally manages to push it back down her finger. He curls his fingers around hers, rubbing the band until it heats against both of their skins, back where it belongs.

Anna brings their joint hands up to her mouth, lips trembling as she kisses his rough knuckles. He clutches tighter, resting his head against his arm and taking a deep breath.

"I have handled things so badly today," he says. "I've spent the entire time trying to come to terms with the fact that someone has hurt you, that I'd lost sight of what was the most important thing. I thought that keeping my distance would give us both time to come to terms with everything, and make you feel less crowded, but I should have been there for you. I should have been reassuring you, supporting you in your every decision."

"It doesn't matter," she sniffs.

His eyes spark. "Of course it matters. You thought that it meant that I didn't want you anymore. And that makes me no better than him because I hurt you and made you doubt."

"Don't say that," she chokes. "How can you even put yourself on the same level as him? You've never _ever_ –"

"All right," he hushes her quickly, bringing her hand down so that he can press kisses against her knuckles now. "Whatever happens, I promise that I'll always be here for you. We'll get through this together, somehow. Together, just like we always have."

She does sob now, and he rises up on both knees, obviously uncaring of the way that his right knee will probably be protesting violently. He lets go of her hand and cups her face with both of his; her own rise up to press against his, keeping them in place against her face.

"I love you," he tells her. His eyes are dark and more earnest than she's ever seen them before. His words have never been more sincere. "Nothing in the world will ever change that."

She can't get her voice to function, so she leans forward to kiss him instead, pressing against him desperately. He kisses her back, and there are more tears, running from their eyes, smearing over their cheeks, mixing until she can't tell which ones are hers and which ones are his. When they have exhausted themselves, John collapses backwards, his shoulders hunching, his head going to her lap. She trails her fingers through his hair and contemplates the ring on her finger.

"I promise you," he says, "everything is going to be all right."

She looks into his eyes, past the tears and the darkness and the horror, finding the conviction there and holding onto it for dear life, as though it's the only thing that keeps her from losing her way in the night.

"Will it really?" she asks, her voice quivering.

"Believe," he says.

And she thinks, perhaps in time, she will.

* * *

**A/N:** A little more on why Anna has been feeling the way she has next time around, as well as some other stuff.


	8. Why Oh Why

**A/N:** This chapter, like the fourth one, gave me a lot of trouble. It's meatier than it was in the original draft, but whether it's meaty enough...well, that's another thing.

**Guest –** I apologise for the torturing! Though I am sort of glad you think it is!

**batesfan2 –** Yes, I'm afraid Green isn't completely gone yet. Although maybe it's a good thing in some respects. To be honest, I don't know very much about how sexual assault was viewed in those times. I have tried to do some research, mostly through the Internet, but I'm shoddy at the best of times, so my search hasn't been that fruitful.

**Guest 2 –** Wow, thank you very much! The ring scene was something that was just so clear in my mind, and I'm so glad that it's been received so well. In regards to Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes…who knows if they will ever find out? And I hope Lady Mary can factor in somehow, though probably most prominently towards the end.

**Guest 3 –** I'm glad you think so; it will happen several more times before the end of the story, and for two chapters in particular, it will focus on his POV more than Anna's (or at least equal in one of those two cases). And thank you very much, I appreciate that comment. :)

**Guest 4 –** Glad you enjoyed it! In regards to the other things: yes, they will be written, but I won't be posting them here, unfortunately.

**Guest 5 –** I sympathise with you over that feeling. I've had it many times over the years. I'm honoured that you're feeling it for this! :)

* * *

_8. Why Oh Why_

It takes weeks, but things finally begin to move forward for them. It's still a hard, uphill struggle, but now that John really knows everything, it's not as bad as facing it alone. She no longer has to pretend that everything is fine. Instead, if she awakens in the middle of the night, thrashing to escape the restrictive bed sheets that feel too much like an iron grip, she doesn't have to make up some excuse. Instead, she can fling herself into his waiting arms and have him soothe her fear away.

For a long time, she had never doubted his feelings for her, but he has always been the first one to crumble in the face of adversary. She'd been frightened that this was yet another obstacle that would push them apart and not draw them together. But in her terror, she'd lost sight of who he is. John is a kind and honourable man, and he loves her in that reverent way of his, and ever since their chance to finally live together as man and wife without the shadow of his past darkening their doorstep, he has been so much more forthcoming and wonderful. She's so thankful that she'd been proven wrong.

It's not perfect. It will take a long time to achieve that. There will always be hurt. But the weeping wounds can start to heal, leaving thin scars in their places.

She laughs a little at work, something she'd been sure that she would never do again. She starts to feel less detached from the world, joining in conversations and even participating in lively games. Every day, John tells her that he loves her and reinforces it with beautiful little gestures. A vase of wildflowers from their garden when he brings her supper to bed, so reminiscent of the time when she'd been ill at Downton. Soft little touches against her back that speak volumes of the way that he feels for her. Bit by bit, she finds that she can go whole hours without thinking about what she's been through. When those memories do resurface, she can rally against them. She has John. He is her leaning post and her pillar of strength. With him supporting her every step of the way, she can do this.

They can _both_ do this.

* * *

Anna wakens to find John staring at her lovingly. She makes a little noise and stretches, hearing her bones pop. John chuckles. She groans at the dull throb of a headache behind her eyes, but that is forgotten when he reaches out to touch her hip.

"Good morning," he says.

"Good morning," she returns, voice scratchy. "What time is it?"

"Not quite time to get up yet," he informs her, his thumb drawing circles. "Rest a little longer."

"And where are you going?" she whines as he slides out of bed.

"To see to breakfast, of course," he replies, reaching for his gown.

She sits up. "Oh, John, you don't have to do that. We always eat up at the house."

"I know I don't have to," he says. "I want to. Besides, today is a special day."

She rubs at her eyes before tilting her head. "Why?"

He leans in to peck her cheek. "Because it's our half-day, of course."

"And? We've hand half-days before." They've had half-days since the incident, afternoons of pottering around their garden and making it look more presentable, a relaxing activity that they've both enjoyed.

"Well, I thought we might spend the afternoon in Ripon."

"I'd like that. It's been a while since I've been there." They haven't ventured out of Downton's vicinity for weeks, because she hasn't felt up to it. But there is something different in the air today, as if all manner of things are possible. She has to embrace the feeling.

"It's settled, then," he says, patting her knee. "Now, I'll get the tea on."

She smiles as she watches him leave the room, drawing her knees up to her chest and resting her chin on them. He's trying so hard, showering her with love and affection that insulates her and keeps her safe. If she had doubted him before, she can't now. He's not given her one reason to believe that he isn't sincere with his feelings for her, and it gives her more strength than she could possibly articulate. United, they can conquer this.

* * *

They set off for Ripon early in the afternoon. The day is bright for a day in early December. Anna feels strangely buoyant, leaning against her husband as they jostle along on the bus.

Once they disembark, John offers his arm to her.

"Where to first?" he asks.

She scrunches up her nose as she thinks, then shoots him a bashful look. "The shops?"

He laughs. "If that's what you want."

"Only for a little while. And I'll let you loose in the bookshop as an apology. I know you hate all those dress fittings."

"I don't," he retorts. "I enjoy them very much." His forearm muscles tighten in an odd squeeze of her hand, and she shivers just a little.

They stroll around the town, peering in shop windows and pausing frequently. Nothing really captures her attention – they can't really afford to go splurging out on new best dresses when they're setting aside as much as they can for the future – but then she sees the hat. It's pretty, a beige colour with a bright blue ribbon. John evidently follows her stare, for he drops her arm and moves behind her, not quite touching her, but certainly close enough to have her aware of the hot breath on the back of her neck. She flinches a little, and he steps to the side at once, ghosting his hand across the small of her back in apology. She reaches out and entwines their fingers.

"Do you like that?" he asks her.

"It's pretty," she concedes.

"I'll buy it for you, then."

"Oh, no, John, you mustn't."

"And why not?"

She tilts her head to look at him. He's frowning. "We don't have the budget for it."

"Of course we do. I came here today with the purpose of treating you. If you'd like a new hat, then you shall have one. Besides, it's not that expensive. And you'll get a lot of wear out of it. It matches the new dress that Lady Mary gave you a few weeks ago."

She wants to protest further, but the determined look in John's eye makes her think better of it. Stubborn as a mule, her husband. So she allows him to drag her into the store. He picks it up and offers it to her with a bow, as though he is presenting the crown to the queen, and she giggles as she accepts it, pushing it down on her head.

"What do you think?" she says.

His eyes rove over her face adoringly. "I think it's perfect. You have to let me buy it for you now. It would be a travesty to leave it here for a less suitable head."

She giggles, removing it to replace it with her old one and holding it out for him. He takes it to the cashier and pays while she rearranges herself, then they step back out into the cold air. The bookshop is their next stop, and Anna browses the shelves while John immerses himself in books, eventually settling on a collection of obscure essays by someone she's never heard of before.

"Where to now?" he asks as they brave the wind once more.

"The teashop?" she offers. "I'm getting hungry."

"As you wish," he says.

The tea rooms are located on the edge of the green. In summer, it's a beautiful sight to see, with children running about as they play and men and women enjoying picnics there with their families. In winter, it is much less appealing, though the crisp frost that has settled over the grass makes for a beautiful sight. The tea room is crowded thanks to the cold day, but they manage to find a seat for themselves in the middle of the room. Anna delights in the selection of cakes that John buys.

"Are you sure we need that many?" she laughs as they are brought over, almost filling the table.

John raises an eyebrow at her. "Come, now, Mrs. Bates, I know that sweet tooth of yours."

"Well, it seems like you're just trying to fatten me up. I shall be the size of a whale before even eating half of these. I shan't need to eat for the rest of the day now."

John reaches forward and takes hold of a jam tart. "Then allow me to assist you."

She rolls her eyes playfully, but lets him steal what he likes. Occasionally, their hands brush against each other as they reach for the same treat. John always lets her have her pick, and she grins shyly at him, brushing against his knuckles. She feels as if she's on a date, and the silly notion makes her grin wide, lowering her eyes to the chequered table cloth. She traces the patterns with nervous fingertips, and then starts when his big hands closes over hers. He's smiling at her, a genuine smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. Her heart kick-starts in her chest. It's the first smile like that that she's seen since before Mr. Green.

"Are you all right?" he asks her. "You look a little flushed."

"I'm perfectly all right," she tells him. "Just thinking about how much I'm enjoying my day. This has been wonderful."

"I'm glad," he utters, lacing their fingers together.

They spend a good hour there, talking in hushed voices that keep out the outside world, sharing their cakes and sipping tea. Once they're done, John helps her back into her coat and lovingly wraps her scarf around her neck, his fingers brushing against her skin. Her pulse jumps, and her eyes rove over his body, lingering on his eyes. There's something between them, something she can't quite put her finger on.

Afterwards, they take another turn around the village, then end up on a bench, enjoying the very weak sunshine despite the biting cold, giving John the opportunity to rest his knee. They huddle close, John with his arm around her shoulder to bring her closer and shield her from the harsh wind. She tucks her arm inside his coat and relishes in his warmth. He presses a kiss against her cheek, somewhat encumbered by her hat, and she nuzzles against him.

"We need to get back soon," he sighs.

"I don't want to. Can't we stay here forever?"

He chuckles. "Runaways? Like those bandits in America?"

"Well, we don't need to become thieves."

"Living off love alone?"

"Something like that, yes."

"I like the sound of that," he says wistfully. "Just you and me."

They talk and tease some more, relishing every opportunity they have to touch each other without the constraints of the house that they work in. Anna closes her eyes on several occasions at the feel of his touch.

For a golden few hours, everything really is back to normal.

It is over too soon and, reluctantly, they have to make their way back to the cottage in order to change into their uniforms for their evening tasks.

"You've spoiled me today," she comments as they walk down the lane towards their home, tilting her head to look up into his face.

"Well, you deserve it," he says.

They reach their front door. Her smile is a little strained around the edges at the subtle reference to the incident. "You know that it doesn't matter to me. I have everything that I need right here."

He smiles, moving to unlock it. She slips in before him, taking the bag containing her new hat through to the kitchen. John follows her, leaning against the doorframe.

"I think I'll head up and start getting changed," he says.

"All right then. I'll be right behind you."

He nods, and leaves the room. She pulls out the hat and admires it for several minutes. And then she realises that she's humming. She hasn't done that for a long time. She smiles.

When she goes up to the bedroom, she finds John already partially dressed, his trousers in place, his braces hanging ready to be slipped over his shoulders. He is bare chested, having obviously decided to change his undershirt. The sight has her breath catching in her throat. It's the first time that she's seen him unclothed since the night of her confession. She has almost forgotten what seeing his chest, so broad and hairy, does to her.

But she remembers most clearly now. The bolt of heat that careens through her entire body takes her by such surprise that she stumbles against the doorframe. John raises his eyes to hers, startled by the sudden movement.

"Are you all right?" he asks.

She nods breathlessly. "Yes, I'm all right."

Slowly, as if she's in a trance, she walks towards him. He holds still, watching her, and she reaches out leaden arms to touch him. Her fingers come into contact with his chest hair, sighing as her fingers comb through it, and he trembles beneath her. She rises up on her tiptoes, breath hot, and blindly seeks out his mouth. It's the only contact between them; just their mouths and her fingers on his chest. The swipe of her tongue is strong, and she coaxes her way inside his mouth, whimpering a little at the taste of him – there is still the hint of sweet pastry from the buns that he'd consumed earlier. Carefully, his hand comes up to palm her hip. The touch sends another jolt down her spine, and the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. She needs more. Her hands scramble towards his trousers, grappling desperately with the fastenings. She feels him stirring beneath her touch, and she gasps –

He pulls away from her, panting hard, eyes like a wild animal's.

"There isn't time," he says.

She tries to hook her fingers into his trousers and pull him to her again, frantic for some kind of relief from the rush of feelings that have overcome her so suddenly. "Of course there's time."

"There isn't," he says again, and it hits her with clarity. He's rebuffing her. Subtly, maybe. But it is a rebuttal all the same.

She freezes in place. Gently, he disentangles himself from her, stepping backwards without taking his eyes from her, as though fearing that she will try to lure him again.

She gives him a wide-eyed stare, then turns and flees from the room, leaving him there alone.

* * *

"Anna, are you all right? You're awfully quiet tonight."

"Yes, milady," she parrots dutifully, tying the ribbon at the end of her hair. "I'm just a little tired tonight."

Lady Mary nods, but it is a sceptical nod. Anna doesn't much care, losing herself in her thoughts once again.

John had pushed her away. She'd been willing to offer herself to him, and he had rejected her. He hadn't wanted her. Because she's been sullied by another man. He doesn't want to touch her again knowing that someone else has done it too. He doesn't want to dirty himself by making love to her.

She sighs fretfully, willing the tears to stay away. She scrutinises Lady Mary's hair, making sure that everything is perfect. It is. She can put off the inevitable no longer.

"That's done, milady," she announces. "Is there anything else you need?"

"I don't think so, no. I'll see you in the morning now. Goodnight, Anna."

"Goodnight, milady."

Anna closes the door behind her, pausing for a moment in the corridor to compose herself. And then she sets off for the servants' hall. John will be there soon, if he isn't already, and she knows that the walk home will be particularly awkward after the unfortunate end to their lovely afternoon.

She is greeted by Mrs. Hughes as soon as she enters, and converses politely with her while she slips into her coat and hat for the journey to their cottage. Not ten minutes later, John appears in the doorway, filling it in that delicious way of his, and Anna feels her stomach flutter again. But she pushes it down.

"Are you ready?" he asks her softly.

"All set," she replies, not quite meeting his eye. She bids Mrs. Hughes goodbye, and then follows him outside.

The wind blows, and she folds in on herself a little in a bid to keep warm. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices John reaching out his hand, obviously intending to take hers. Hers leaps up to her hat at once, on the pretext of fixing it more securely in place. He wilts, and drops his hand back to his side. She feels a horrible stab of pettiness. Perhaps he understands what it's like to be rejected now.

_That's not who you are_.

The voice in her head is right. She has fire, but not to put other people down with it. Miss O'Brien had been like that, and Thomas still is; she doesn't want to be twisted like them just because she can't come to terms with the awful things that life has thrown at her. Before she can open her mouth and apologise, however, John speaks up.

"Have I done something to offend you?" he asks.

She keeps quiet for a moment, mulling over the question. She could keep it to herself and reassure him that everything is fine, never speaking of it. But her mother's vice is loud in her head – _there's no air like clear air_ – and her own morals are even more prevalent – she's promised herself that the secrets and lies are done.

"Not offend, no," she says.

His expression clears, then darkens, like clouds on a summer's day. "Oh."

"Why did you push me away?"

The words linger for a moment. They stop. John shifts from foot to foot, eyes darting. "I would have thought that that was obvious."

"Is it because you don't want me now?"

Now his eyes do land on her, horrified. "No! Of course that's not the reason!"

"Then what?"

He reaches between them, taking her hand. This time, she lets him.

"It came out of nowhere," he says. "A spur of the moment thing. I didn't know if you really wanted it. It's easy to regret things that are done spur of the moment, in the heat of emotion, and I would have been no better than him if I'd gone along with you."

His words are heavy with the significance of all the time they've lost, but Anna pushes through that. "It might have hit me in the heat of the moment, but I know that I wouldn't have regretted it."

"What are you saying?" he breathes.

She answers him with the brush of his her fingers over his, then urges him to start walking again. The air between them is still thick with tension, though a very different kind to the one before. Relief flows through Anna's veins too; he _does _still want her. As usual, he had only been thinking of her, even if he'd not done it in the most clear way.

The cottages come into view. Her heart begins to beat just a little faster. At the door, John fumbles with the keys and clicks it open. She steps inside and he follows her. They take off their outer layers, and then he shuts the door behind them.

The tension thickens. It's suffocating, filtering into her lungs.

"Do you want a cup of tea?" John babbles nervously. "I can get us one –"

She reaches out her hand and he stops like a record that's been shut off as her fingers touch his. Bare skin against bare skin once again. It creates wonderful images in her mind too, of the two of them thrashing and writhing as every inch of them presses together, electric sparks passing between them. She can hardly swallow around the desirous lump in her throat. Without words, she leads him up the staircase. He follows her mindlessly, a little lamb. At the bedroom door, she turns to grasp fistfuls of his jacket, pushing against it. His hand ghosts against her cheek. She closes her eyes, then drags the jacket from his shoulders, leaving it to sprawl on the floor. She pulls him forward, leading him inside the bedroom. His eyes never leave hers as she moves them over to the bed, sinking down on the sheets. She kisses him once, pulling him closer, pushing herself up into him.

"Are you sure that you're ready for this?" he whispers, and she strokes her hands through his hair more urgently.

"Yes," she says as reassuringly as she can. "I don't want to keep dwelling on the memory of what it felt like last time. I want to be filled with the memories of what it's always been like for the both of us."

He chews at his lip, but she knows that he's wavering. She moves up and sweeps a trembling hand down the fine line of his jaw.

"Make me yours," she whispers. "Claim me back again."

A shadow passes briefly over his face, clouding the shine in his eyes, and she's just about to start cursing herself for saying the wrong thing entirely when he catches her hand and brings it between them.

"If you're sure," he says uncertainly. "But if you start to feel uncomfortable at any point, you must let me know. I'll stop immediately."

She closes her eyes, a lump forming in her throat. What a difference there is between her man and the monster that had defiled her. And that is why they need to start making plans to move forward with their lives, to leave the past entirely in the past.

"I love you," she says.

"I love you," he returns, his hands gliding up her sides, bunching her dress as he goes.

He spends a little time unclothing her, then presses kiss after kiss against the bare skin that he's uncovered. More than a little relief floods her body as she realises that this time she _is_ responding to him, that it seems like the time to move on is finally upon them.

When he moves just a little lower down her body, she throws her head back against their pillows, her back arching, and falls into the sweet white waves of ecstasy.

She is home.

* * *

In the sudden silence that follows the immediate aftermath of their exertions, Anna and John lie twined together, moulded as if they are one being. John's arms encompass her body, and their fingers are linked on the bed sheets in front of her, where she can see them together. They look perfect. In the moonlight, her wedding band glistens, reflecting the ghostly light, and she subtly rubs the band against his finger, reminding them both of the significance that it carries.

John kisses her sweaty shoulder tenderly, his breath warm against her.

"Was that all right?" he murmurs.

"More than all right," she reassures him, because it had been.

His kisses had been like the touch of a butterfly's wings against her skin, lingering just long enough to make her stomach flutter, but never enough to become oppressive. He'd kept his mouth away from hers for the duration, conscious of how traumatic her ordeal had been last time. Instead, he'd kept his eyes trained on her at all times, pouring every ounce of love that he felt into his expression, so whenever she'd looked down at him, she'd known just how much she meant to him. She'd known that he hadn't even been contemplating his own pleasure throughout the whole thing, more intent on making her feel comfortable and beautiful again, and in the end she'd been the one doing the begging, desperate to reconnect with him in the most intimate of ways. But even then he'd been careful of how it could relate to the incident with Green. Instead of moving up and over her like he has done so many times in the past, he'd urged her onto her side, pressing his front against her back and trying things from a different angle. The combination of his constant stream of reassurances and the way that he'd worked wonders over every pore in her body had ensured that for the first time since the whole awful incident, Anna had felt good.

Now, she draws their joined hands closer to her, folding them over her stomach. John presses one last kiss against her shoulder before settling down properly. The steady rise and fall of his chest against her back lulls her like a ship rocking on calm waters, and she falls into the sensation, closing her eyes and concentrating on him.

The evening has reassured her that John won't think differently of her despite the things that have tested them. And it gives her hope that perhaps they can find their way out of the shadows properly now. One step at a time.

* * *

Anna groans as she opens her eyes, greeted by the twinkle of the stars outside. In their haste the previous evening, they'd forgotten all about drawing the curtains. Even the barest hint of light isn't helping the pounding at her temple. She raises her arm to cover her eyes, then turns her head to bury it in her pillow. John shifts behind her, his hand stroking against her stomach. She smiles despite herself, pushing herself back against him. He presses his face into the crook of her neck, showering her with gentle kisses, his own mouth curved into a smile. The imprint of it feels beautiful, and she wriggles around until she faces him, brushing the hair from his eyes. He leans forward to kiss her properly, nuzzles against her neck again, then leans back.

"The curtains," he says.

She giggles, then winces. "I know, we forgot all about them."

"You'd better keep away from the window, then. I don't want Mr. Chirk going out on one of his morning walks and spying you naked there. He'd think all of his Christmases had come at once."

She giggles again, flushing pink.

John appraises her for a moment, then sweeps his thumb over her temple. "And how are you this morning, my darling? Really?"

"My head is pounding something rotten," she admits. "But it's nothing that an aspirin won't cure."

John's brow creases with worry. "That's an entire week straight of you waking up with them. That's not normal. You should see Doctor Clarkson."

"He won't be able to give me anything for them. He'll just tell me to carry on taking aspirin like I am now."

"I still think you should see him. You never know, he might be able to help with something else."

She sighs, then slides her hand over his shoulder. "Oh, all right then. I need to go into the village this afternoon to pick up some new thread for my button box, so I suppose I could call in at the hospital to see if Doctor Clarkson's there."

John's relieved smile makes the task seem like less of a waste, and she hitches herself up on her hands and knees, crawling over him. His hands move tentatively to her hips. His smile is one of nervous anticipation now.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"What does it look like?" She stops in some trepidation, hovering over him, suddenly self-conscious about the initiative she's taken.

"I don't know." There's a hint of apprehension in his voice, but he strokes her hips and gazes up at her with those adoring eyes. It's enough to restore her confidence a little.

"Then perhaps I can give you some clues."

She hears his breath hitch as she leans over him, and she trails her fingers down his chest. His stubble is prickly against her face. His hair flops forward in that maddening way. She loves him like this, so dishevelled, the relaxed picture that she hasn't seen for so long, and indeed that no one else gets to see. It has been sorely missed in the long months of hurt.

As John emits an exquisite grunt in the back of his throat, Anna takes the first step towards regaining the life they'd once loved.

* * *

They are both in higher spirits than they have been for weeks since Anna's revelation, and she herself feels as if she could fly to the moon and back. The bird song has not been sweeter in a long time. The day is as bright as summer, even if it is the heart of winter. John's hand is tight in hers as they walk. Every now and then, he squeezes hers, or shoots her little loving looks. She wants to giggle aloud, her heart beating as fast as it had on the day when she'd realised that she'd fallen in love.

Once at the house, they are immediately greeted by Mrs. Hughes, who seems to have stepped outside to look for Thomas, who is enjoying a cigarette at the back door.

"There you are," she says. "We were wondering where you were. Breakfast has already started."

"We're sorry, Mrs. Hughes. We got caught up in something at home."

Now the urge to giggle is stronger, and she has to lower her eyes to the ground, feeling just like a daughter who has got away with something forbidden right underneath her mother's nose. There must be something about their countenance that gives them away, though, for Mrs. Hughes raises a shrewd eyebrow. Thankfully, she says nothing, and they grin at each other like lovesick fools. Unfortunately, they can't dodge Thomas' jibes.

"Marital bliss is back again, I see," he says lazily, flicking ash from the end of his cigarette. "Well, mind you keep it professional here. I don't want to hear reports of the maids finding you locked together in the airing cupboard."

"Mr. Barrow!" Mrs. Hughes thunders, looking horrified. "Kindly keep such comments to yourself."

Thomas only smirks, turning to go back inside. Mrs. Hughes shakes her head and follows him. Anna glances up into John's face. He doesn't seem too fazed by Thomas' crass observation, staring thoughtfully after him.

"Is that what this is?" he asks. "Marital bliss?"

"I think I need a few more experiences like this morning to answer exclusively," she says shyly. "But I think perhaps it is."

The return of marital bliss. The first day of the rest of their lives. The day has never seemed brighter.

* * *

The morning passes quickly, and happily. She dresses Lady Mary and holds Master George, cooing at him while Lady Mary fixes her hat, preparing to go out for a walk with him and Nanny. She completes all of her tasks, and once spies John hard at work in the courtyard, his jacket discarded, muscles rippling under the confines of his shirt. Her heart flutters, and so does her stomach. Now that that part of their lives has been reawakened once again, she finds that she can look back on their times together with fondness.

Perhaps, she thinks as she walks down to the village to collect her thread, she can buy a few discrete items to enhance their evening. Some scented candles. And she can always pick some roses for their petals on the way home. She's sure Mr. Brocket won't miss a couple.

She can't resist the candles when she does arrive in the village. Three lavender scented ones wafting around their room and combining with John's already intoxicating musk will certainly heighten the intimacy.

The thread – the thing she'd been going for in the first place – is next on the list, and thankfully she finishes her errands in less time than she'd been expecting. Sighing, she checks the little watch that she'd slipped into her purse. She has enough time to pop in on Doctor Clarkson. She feels silly, knowing that he won't be able to tell her anything, but if it will make John feel better, then she'll do it.

Humming, she sets off for the hospital.

* * *

Wide-eyed, she steps back out of the hospital, stumbling and catching herself on the doorframe. Taking a shuddering breath, she continues to move as if in a dream. Her stomach lurches and roils, and she pauses in the lane, frightened that she's going to be sick. The urge passes, but the feeling remains, a reminder of what is to come.

What had Lady Mary lamented to her about just after Mr. Matthew's death? Something about how life was golden one minute, and then laid in ashes at her feet in the next.

She very much knows the feeling now.

* * *

The afternoon passes in a daze for her. Lady Mary seems broody herself, and barely strings two words together. For once, Anna is grateful for it. It means that she can lose herself in her own nightmare. She is busy right up to dinner, and then drags herself into the servants' hall as if she has iron weights tying her down, pulling her beneath the crushing weight of the water. Seeing John's contented face at the table only makes everything worse. He looks so _happy_, something that had seemed impossible to them a while ago. And now she's going to ruin his life all over again.

The dishes are given out, and she sits with her shoulders down as the stew is ladled out. Just looking at the chunks of meat makes her want to throw up again. Instead, she reaches for her glass of water, gulping half of it down and willing her stomach to settle. The happy chatter starts then, everyone lost in their own fruitful days, and she keeps quiet, focusing on her food. Taking that first mouthful is torture. She prays that John will leave her alone, just for a little while, but it isn't to be.

"Did you manage to see Doctor Clarkson?" His voice is low under the rattle of the cutlery.

She glances up from her stew. "Hmm? Oh, yes, I did."

"And?"

"And nothing." Oh, the biggest of lies.

"You seem quiet again tonight. Are you sure Doctor Clarkson didn't find anything more?"

"No, really. Look, now's not the time to discuss it. Wait until we're home." She can't face it now. Not with everyone there. She wouldn't be able to get through it, and she isn't ready to see the betrayal on his face.

He relents then, going back to his plate. Anna raises her fork, forcing down the mouthful.

* * *

Too many of their walks recently have been spent in silence, and this is another one to add to the pile. They hold hands as usual – Anna more so for moral support – and keep their eyes trained ahead, heeding to Anna's promise that they will speak at home. She's dreading the moment.

And then the cottage is in sight. Bile rises in her throat.

John drops her hand to unlock the door, then ushers her inside. She takes off her coat and drops her bag, heading for the parlour. There will be no use for the candles tonight.

It's cold in there, but she barely notices it, stumbling to a rest against the sofa. John follows more slowly, lighting the oil lamp so that there is light. But he ignores the empty grate, sinking down beside her.

"Tell me about the visit to Doctor Clarkson," he says softly.

She takes a deep breath and chokes on a sob, suddenly overcome. John's eyes widen in alarm, and he sweeps her up into his arms.

"Shh, shh," he says. "Oh, God, he found something, didn't he?"

She can't bring herself to speak just yet, instead nodding her head.

"Christ," he mutters frantically. "Anna, what is it? What did he find? Tell it wasn't a growth or something –"

"No, it wasn't," she says hurriedly.

"Then what? Anna, put me out of my misery."

She won't hide it from him. In any case, there is no possible way to.

She draws a long, shuddering breath, forcing her eyes up to meet his, the tears blurring her view of his face. Still, it is not enough to blot out the rest.

She speaks.

She watches as the colour drains from his face, and he takes the colour from her world too. How cruel that words that should have filled them with such delirious happiness now bring them back down to their knees.

"_Doctor Clarkson says I'm pregnant."_

* * *

**A/N:** This was always planned, right from the very beginning when I had the initial idea. I know a lot of you didn't want this, but Fellowes does love his melodrama. There are still a few chapters to go, so let's see how this pans out.


	9. Be Assured

**A/N:** I hope this is okay.

**Guest 1 –** Thank you! I'm glad you liked the last two chapters. It was nice to write a somewhat lighter chapter last time around before the end of it. I hope you continue to enjoy the rest!

**Guest 2 –** There's nothing wrong with being crazy! Thank you very much! You're words are too kind.

**Guest 3 –** Here we go, Bates-heavy POV stuff starting now. No, they're not going to go down the route of abortion. It hadn't crossed my mind, actually, until I read a couple of reviews. And we're gearing up for the end of the story now, so your question will be answered very soon.

**Guest 4 –** Don't hate me too much! But thank you. I hope you enjoy the rest!

**Guest 5 –** Who can say what will happen? I agree it would be depressing if it was the alternative, but…Believe me, I have a love/hate relationship with this thing too. It's been a push to write, which is a good thing for me, but it's not been the nicest trip.

**Guest 6 –** I wish I had inside information! My mind could at least be put at ease then. I need the entire series right now so I can be put out of my misery, not have it drawn out for eight weeks.

As usual, thank you all for your reviews!

* * *

_9. Be Assured_

_Doctor Clarkson says I'm pregnant._

Even now, two days later, the words still resound in John's head. He stares blankly out of the bedroom window. He knows that he looks gaunt, more haunted than he should. His eyes are hollow. He knows that he's scaring Anna with his unpredictable behaviour, but he just can't help it.

_She's pregnant._

How is he supposed to come to terms with something like that?

_The baby might not be mine._

He lets out a shaky breath, running his hand through his hair. Behind him, the door creaks open. Soft footsteps approach. He waits until he feels her touch against his arm before turning towards her, meeting her own troubled eyes. She doesn't smile at him, and he doesn't move to pull her closer. The awkwardness is back, that awful atmosphere that had surrounded them immediately after Anna's confession of Green's assault. John knows that she needs his support now more than ever, but he can't be what she needs at this moment. Not when his head is still reeling. Anna seems to understand this, giving him the space he needs to collect his thoughts.

They've discussed it, of course, late at night, down in the kitchen, sitting at opposite ends of the table.

"_You might be the father,"_ she'd said in a small voice, her hand resting tentatively against her stomach, almost afraid that it would burn her. _"There's a chance."_

He'd nodded silently, his mind whirring. A chance. A possibility out of two. Or does he have a better chance? After all, they had made love that fateful week more than once, and several more times in the weeks before.

"_We've got a good chance,"_ Anna had whispered as if she could read his mind.

They'd made love several times in the time period where she could have fallen pregnant. But they've been making love consistently since the moment that he'd been released from prison. Frantically at first, every spare moment that they had spent between the sheets together. A little less frequently now, but still much more than most, making up for the time in the past ten years when they had wanted each other but had been unable to act upon it. And, not even once in all of that time, has there even been a hint of a baby. All those months, all those times, and no pregnancy.

One terrible moment with a disgusting excuse for a man, and the confirmation of life.

Deep down, he believes that he's not the father. There are almost impossible odds for him to overcome. His stomach twists and lurches, and he has to physically push down the urge to be sick.

"We need to get going," Anna says softly.

He nods unsmilingly. As if in a nightmare, he turns slowly from the window, moving to collect his jacket from the wardrobe. Anna loiters for a moment, then follows him down the stairs. Once in the hallway, they pull on their coats and hats.

"I'm going to tell Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson today," he says hollowly.

Anna's eyes are wide and fearful as she whips around to look at him. "What?"

He sighs a dead sigh, avoiding her gaze. "There's no sense in putting it off any longer. They'll need to find out sooner or later. The longer we leave it, the harder it will be."

"But…" Anna's hands twist together. Her eyes are wild. "Isn't it too raw still? They'll _know_ you're not happy –"

"I'll manage," he says.

"But what am I supposed to say to everyone when it gets out?" she asks wretchedly.

"I don't know," he says. "Pretend to be happy."

"_How?"_ she bursts out. "How can I be happy when there's the chance that the baby that I'm carrying isn't _yours_?"

It's the most emotion she's shown since she'd told him the news, and she looks no older than a little girl thrust out into the harsh world. His heart contracts, and he does move to hold her now, sweeping her up into his arms and burying his nose against the material of her hat. Her shoulders convulse, her arms come up around him, and he feels moisture against his neck. She's probably soaking his collar. He can't bring himself to care.

With a last shuddering breath, she pushes herself away from him, lowering her eyes to the floor.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

He closes his eyes. "Anna, please stop apologising."

She opens her mouth to say something, but he cuts her off quickly by fishing out his handkerchief, tipping her chin back so that he can gently wipe the tears from her face. It seems to soothe her enough to keep her silent, and he bends down to kiss her cheek briefly when he's finished.

"Come on," he says softly. "It's time."

She slips out of the door in front of him, head hanging. He lingers for a few moments longer, trying to gather himself together.

It's time to make the nightmare a terrible reality.

* * *

"Are you sure you want to do this alone?"

Anna's voice is small behind him, but it stops him in his tracks. He turns back towards her, finding her standing there like a statue, teeth chewing rhythmically at her bottom lip, blue eyes wide. He manages a strained smile for her benefit.

"I'll be fine," he says. "You go and see to Lady Mary."

"Mrs. Hughes is going to want to know every detail, you know."

"I know. I can handle it. And it wouldn't be fair to put you through that too."

"But I will go through it. She'll seek me out."

There's raw fear in her voice, and it yanks at his heartstrings to know that he _doesn't _know how to take it away. He offers her a tentative touch to the arm, but says nothing. She accepts the touch, then slides away from him.

"I'll be upstairs," she whispers. "Find me afterwards if you can."

He nods, and watches her walk away without a backwards glance.

* * *

"Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes, might I have a word?"

He's thankful that both the butler and the housekeeper have been found together in Mrs. Hughes' sitting room. It makes it easier than having to endure it all over again on separate occasions.

"Of course you may," Mrs. Hughes answers. "Please, come in."

He limps into the room and closes the door behind him, shutting out the outside world. Leaning heavily on his cane for support, he forces himself to meet the inquisitive gazes of his superiors.

"So, what might we do for you, Mr. Bates?" Mr. Carson asks in that booming voice of his, and John swallows hard. This is it. The point of no return. The time when the baby becomes a concrete being that has to be acknowledged by everyone.

"I need to talk to you about Anna," he says.

Mrs. Hughes' eyes are wary at once. "It's not too terrible, is it?"

_The worst kind of terrible, _he thinks, but shakes his head. "Nothing terrible, no."

"Then what?"

He takes a deep breath, air filtering thinly into his lungs. "She's pregnant." There is no point in skirting around the subject.

Mrs. Hughes' gasp is loud. Her hands fly to her mouth. Mr. Carson's eyes widen.

"_Pregnant?"_ he says faintly, looking mortified. He probably hadn't even considered the possibility that one day he might be dealing with a pregnant servant. Perhaps, John thinks viciously, so long had passed that he'd no longer expected it.

"Yes, that's right," he confirms. "We found out a few days ago."

"But what splendid news," says Mrs. Hughes. There are tears shining in her eyes. "I can't imagine how happy you are."

"Overjoyed," he says. A lie. "We're still trying to come to terms with it all." The irrevocable truth.

For a brief moment, he fears that he can see a spark of suspicion in Mrs. Hughes' eyes. He forces the best smile that he can onto his face. Thankfully, Mr. Carson breaks the moment, furrowing his bushy brows.

"I can't say that I am extremely comfortable with the situation, but I must congratulate you all the same."

"Thank you, Mr. Carson. It means a great deal."

"And where is Anna?" Mrs. Hughes prompts. "I would have thought that she would have liked to have been here."

"We felt that it was best if I brought the news first. I wanted to seek your approval before Anna got involved."

"Approval before Anna got involved?" says Mrs. Hughes, raising an eyebrow. "I dare say that it's a bit too late for that."

He burns with embarrassment and shame. If only she knew exactly what the situation is.

"What do you and Anna intend to do?" asks Mr. Carson, shooting Mrs. Hughes one of his significant, disapproving glances.

John takes a deep breath. They haven't discussed a thing about the future, hoping that not acknowledging that they will have to make significant changes in their lifestyle will stave off the inevitable. "I believe that Anna will want to stay in service for as long as her condition will permit. After that, she'll leave to stay at home and look after the baby. Our baby." He curses himself for his cold wording, but Mr. Carson is too preoccupied soaking up the news to have taken any notice. He daren't look at Mrs. Hughes.

"I see. And has Lady Mary been informed yet?"

"Not yet, no. We felt that you should be the first to know. Anna and I will approach both Lady Mary and his lordship at some point this week to fill them in on the situation."

"Very well," sighs Mr. Carson. "There isn't much more to say on the matter."

"I do have one more request," says John.

"And what's that, Mr. Bates?"

He looks from the housekeeper to the butler and back again, before swallowing hard. "Both Anna and I would prefer it if you could keep the news to yourself, just for a little while. Although Doctor Clarkson seemed happy with her – with them _both_ – we want to wait until she's a little further along before we make it public knowledge. She's not showing yet, so it won't be hard to hide."

Mr. Carson makes a choked sound. "Yes, thank you, Mr. Bates. I've got quite enough details to contend with."

"And how far along is she?" asks Mrs. Hughes, ignoring the butler completely.

"About three months, the doctor thinks," says John, and his heart splinters in his chest just thinking about it. The baby has been growing quietly for all of that time. He's had his hand on her stomach, and never once has he suspected.

"How lovely. I'll catch up with Anna myself later. And we'll keep it from the rest of the staff until you deem it appropriate to tell them."

"Thank you very much, Mrs. Hughes."

"Now, is that all? I need to go and see how Mr. Barrow is getting on with the wine ledgers."

"It is all, yes, Mr. Carson."

John turns to leave, gripping hold of the door handle and pulling it open.

"Mr. Bates? We really are so happy for the both of you."

Mrs. Hughes' voice is almost tender. He remembers that she has watched Anna grow from a terrified young girl to a strong-willed woman who knows her own mind and has always fought fiercely for what she believes in. No doubt Anna is almost like a daughter to her, and she will probably feel as if she is gaining a grandchild.

_From a man who forced himself onto your wife right under your nose._

He can't bring himself to reply to her statement. Instead, he ducks out of the room. The urge to be sick has never been stronger.

* * *

He finds Anna in Lady Mary's bedroom, glassy-eyed as she folds up some of the younger woman's old riding clothes. Apparently she has decided that she no longer needs them. He closes the door gently behind him, and her head snaps up at once. His heart shrivels in his chest. Will she always react like that in the future? With every softly closed door, with every unexpected entrance, will she always think of _him_?

He offers her a shadow of a smile, staying close to the door. "They know."

She wilts, dropping the clothes to the bed. "Oh."

"I think they're happy for us," he explains further when it is obvious that she's not going to say anything else.

"So they don't suspect at all?" She sounds surprised that he could have pulled it off. Does she doubt now? He remembers a time when she never would have.

"No, I don't think so. Mr. Carson was so embarrassed by the idea that that was all he seemed to notice. Mrs. Hughes might have a little inkling that something is wrong, but we can handle her."

"Can we?" Anna's voice is disconcertingly emotionless.

"Yes, we can," he says as reassuringly as he can. It doesn't have the desired effect. Her shoulders slump as she returns her attention to the clothes on the bed. A pang of panic shoots through his body. Her lack of any real response is beginning to frighten him.

"Anna –" he starts, but she brushes him off with a look, moving around the bed to hover just a few inches away from him.

"I've got to go," she says. "I said I'd go for a walk around the grounds with Lady Mary and Master George."

"Anna –"

"Please, John," she whispers. Her eyes are wide. For a brief moment, he believes that he sees the reflection of that fateful day in her stare, with that bastard blocking her way and preventing her from leaving. His stomach drops, and he lurches to the side at once, clearing her path. She fixes him with one last anguished glance, then darts through the door, leaving him alone.

He lets out a shaky breath, rubbing vigorously at his chin. Have they been foolish to think that they might somehow make it out of this? Are they doomed to barely exist together with a child that neither of them can bring themselves to want?

Tears threaten. He blinks them away. There has to be the promise of sunshine somewhere in their future.

* * *

He stands in Lord Grantham's dressing room, sorting out the change for the evening. Gold cufflinks on the table. White tie draped over the chair. Shirt hung up on the door of the wardrobe. All mechanical actions, each one carried out a thousand times before. His mind whirrs, filled with the sight of Anna's distressed face.

_And the baby._

Movement in the corner of his eye catches his attention, and he turns towards it automatically. His heart bleeds anew.

Anna moves slowly across the gravel path. She looks deep in thought. Lady Mary pushes the pram beside her, lost in her own thoughts. Entranced, John moves closer to the window, an invisible intruder upon the scene. He can't hear what's being said through the glass – he can't even tell if they're speaking at all – but he can't look away from his wife. He hasn't really scrutinised her since the announcement of the news, but he looks at her now. From the side, he can't tell that she's carrying a baby. Her corset hides it well, and her black lady's maid dress is quite shapeless, adding to the smoke veil. He wonders if there would be the beginning of a bump if he looked at her naked, a soft swell that is just beginning to bulge.

Anna and Lady Mary settle themselves down on the bench just on the edge of the sweeping grass. Now he can only see the back of Anna's head. He lets out a sigh, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. She deserves so much more than this. Is this her punishment for standing beside a worthless man all these years?

Surely God couldn't be so cruel. John is not a believer in Heaven or the rest of it. But Anna is. If there is a God, then why would He punish someone like Anna, who has never hurt anyone in her entire life?

No, he is to blame for everything awful that she's been through. Everything she has endured at his hand has been borne quietly, with no fuss. The agonising years of loving him without having that same reassurance. The months of anguish following his departure to London with Vera. The devastation of the trial, and the uncertainty that their future had faced during those long months of imprisonment. And now this. Her suffering in silence because she'd been terrified of what he would do. And still he hasn't given her the support that she needs.

He is petrified of the situation. He is petrified by the possibility that the life that she's carrying inside her has nothing to do with him. A life that has not been made a reality by love, but by a man's blood-curdling thirst for dominance and fear. How on earth is he supposed to work past that fact? How on earth can he be the man that Anna needs him to be, when all he can think about is the bastard that has done this to them?

For the first time since the aftermath of his trial, he prays.

_Please, God, give me a sign of how to deal with this._

God won't listen, of course. He won't grant favours to the doubters and the people who only seek Him out when they need something. But he's on the edge of desperation. They both are.

He opens his eyes with a ragged breath, his forehead pressed against the cold glass, his breath misting the window. Suddenly, he pulls his head away, moving to wipe the condensation. And then he pauses, transfixed.

Anna is standing now. Lady Mary is looking up at her, still seated on the bench, but John hardly registers her. His gaze is fixed firmly upon Anna. Her head is tilted back, exposing that exquisite neck and jawline of hers. Her arms stretch up in front of her, towards the weak sun. And wriggling in her hold is Master George. His little limbs kick and flail. His sandy hair catches the light. He's plump and round, and even though Anna is not his mother, she looks at home with him in her arms, natural. He can't really see her face, but he thinks he can see the hint of a sad smile. Her tenderness towards the little boy in her arms is overwhelming.

It hits him then with a clarity that almost has him toppling over into his lordship's case of prized snuffboxes. He puts out a hand to steady himself, his breath quickening. The way has been illuminated to him, a traveller's lamp guiding him safely through the unforgiving marsh on a deadly black night. He knows what he has to do.

Perhaps there's a God after all.

* * *

He clatters back downstairs as soon as he's finished in Lord Grantham's dressing room, his energy restored. He almost feels as if he's been born again. Cleansed. He knows that Anna won't be down for a while, but since he has no tasks for the moment, he can lovingly prepare her a cup of tea. No more can be permitted here at Downton, but it's a start.

As he turns in the direction of the kitchen, however, he is stopped in his tracks by Mrs. Hughes, who hurries after him and places a hand on his arm.

"There you are, Mr. Bates," she says. "I was hoping to catch you alone. May I have a quick word with you?"

"Of course you can," he acquiesces; he still has plenty of time. "What about?"

"Let's go to my sitting room." She lowers her voice, shooting a pointed look into the kitchen, where Ivy is eyeing them curiously. He follows her.

Once the door is closed behind them, Mrs. Hughes turns to him with a deep breath to steady herself. He waits patiently for her to speak.

"Is everything all right?" she asks at last.

"What do you mean?"

She shoots him one of her no-nonsense glances, the kind that has the maids cowering. He grips his cane tighter, keeping his face impassive.

"I'm not blind, Mr. Bates. I see you and Anna. You're not yourselves again. Has anything else happened?"

_A thousand things._ For a moment, he wants to break down and confess all, to embarrass them both with his display of emotions and let her in on the dark secret that they are both struggling with. But he imagines Anna's humiliation at the realisation that he had betrayed her confidence to the woman who she views as a mother, and he can't do it. And he doesn't want to bring Mrs. Hughes into the situation and have her take the blame herself for missing all of the signs and not acting sooner. So he forces the most genuine smile he can and lightens his tone.

"Of course something's happened, Mrs. Hughes. We're about to be parents."

Her gaze flickers. "And that's good news?"

He closes his eyes and reminds himself of the image of his wife with Master George. "The best."

Now Mrs. Hughes looks more perplexed than ever by his sudden change in mood. He stares her down, giving nothing away. Finally, she relents.

"Very well, Mr. Bates. You may go."

He nods solemnly, then escapes from the room.

* * *

Anna returns inside after her walk with Lady Mary and sighs in despair as she remembers the pile of mending that she has waiting for her in the servants' hall. The sigh turns more melancholy at the thought of facing Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes and John.

_John_. She chokes back a sob at the thought of him. She can't blame him for the cold distance that has sprung up between them again. It's not his fault. She herself is sick at the thought of the baby she's carrying being a part of Mr. Green, never mind what must be going through his mind.

Still, this is the consequence of her actions, and now she must live by it.

Slowly, she makes her way downstairs, trying to re-arrange her features so that she might at least attempt a small smile if one of them is thrown her way. In the doorway to the servants' hall, she pauses, suddenly overcome by fear. John is there, and he is alone. It's difficult enough in the cottage, never mind here. He looks up at her when he realises she is standing there, and she tenses, wondering how she should react.

He offers her a smile. It isn't a tentative one, or a forced one, the kinds that have become more frequent than his real ones ever were in the last two days, and she stops in her tracks, a rabbit staring down something threatening. A real smile. What's going on?

She opens her mouth to voice that question, but no words come out. John beckons her forward, and she goes dumbly, standing awkwardly by his chair. He reaches out his hand and takes hers, lovingly twining their fingers.

"Everything's sorted," he whispers to her.

"I know. You've already said that you've spoken to Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes."

He shakes his head. "No, I mean us and our baby. Everything's fine."

Momentarily, she is stunned by him referring to the child as theirs. Then the tears threaten, a storm behind her eyes, because they can't _know_ if it's theirs. And, finally, there is terrible anger that he can go from brooding to blasé in a matter of hours. She can't keep up with his mood swings. But she doesn't have the energy to fight him. She's tired, so tired.

Evidently noticing her expression, John stands himself up, reaching out with his spare hand to gently caress her cheek with his thumb. It's daring behaviour for the servants' hall, and the significance isn't lost on her. He's making a big statement.

"We have things that we need to talk about at home," he says quietly. "But they're nothing for you to worry about, I promise."

She can't question him further, not here, but she tilts her head into his palm to let him know that she accepts his word.

There's a crash just outside the entrance to the hall, and they spring apart at once. John drops back into his seat, fumbling for his book, while Anna stands there dumbly. Thomas pokes his head in on them, looking harassed. He must have dropped something. When he sees that it's only the two of them, he huffs in that arrogant manner of his and drags himself inside as if it's the most tedious thing he'll ever have to endure. John clamps his jaw firmly closed, barely giving the under-butler a second glance. Anna sinks into her chair beside him, reaching for a cup of tea. John shifts in his seat. His right leg comes into contact with her left, pressing firmly thigh to thigh. Heat emanates from him. It's reassuring somehow.

She prays that whatever he has to say later will not tear them further apart.

* * *

Through some sheer miracle, Mrs. Hughes does not seek her out to ask her all manner of uncomfortable questions, as she'd feared she would; Mr. Carson keeps the housekeeper locked in his study to go over some orders for most of the evening, to her obvious displeasure, and by the time she emerges again, she and John are readying themselves to go back home and she evidently realises that it's too risky for her to say anything. Instead, she pats her motherly on the arm and promises to see her tomorrow.

Anna knows that she won't escape it tomorrow. But at least she has a little longer to prepare herself.

As long as John doesn't give her something else to think about.

They walk in silence towards their cottage. She doesn't dare breach the topic that he'd brought up earlier, keeping her gaze toward the ground, but his hand is tender in hers, his stroking fingers giving her a little reassurance.

"Do you want any supper?" he whispers as they reach their front door.

She shakes her head. She just wants to talk, and get it out of the way. He seems to understand that, letting go of her hand so that she can take off her coat and hang it up.

"Go and get ready for bed," he says. "I'll be with you in a few minutes."

She knows that he's trying to respect her privacy, and nods. It's better this way. She's not ready to have him staring at her while she changes, his eyes fixing themselves to her stomach and making her feel self-conscious. She barely dares to look at herself.

But she can't put it off any longer.

Slowly, she strips herself naked, lifting her eyes cautiously to the image of herself in the mirror. Her breath catches in her throat and almost suffocates her as she turns herself sideways. There's the bump, so small that it's barely noticeable. _But it's there_. Almost afraid of what will happen, she slowly brings her hand up to rest against the swell. Her stomach is warm, and she smoothes her palm against it, the lightest of touches.

Abruptly, she pulls her hand away, throwing on her night things. It's enough progress for one night.

Moments later, she hears John's steps coming closer. She turns towards the sound, sinking down onto the edge of the bed.

He fills the doorway in that intoxicating way of his. He's sans cane, making him look even bigger, but when he crosses the room to her side, there is nothing but gentleness in his manner. The mattress dips as he settles himself beside her. He raises his arm, encouraging her to slip beneath it into his embrace, and she does so gingerly, scared that he will draw away and leave her empty; his fingers curl around hers, and he presses his lips against her temple, soft and lingering. Warmth bursts from that spot. It's the most affectionate he's been in days. Her own arm slips around his back and grips tightly onto his waist, fingers digging in; the other circles around his front. She might be hurting him, but she's terrified of letting go. She turns her head so that she is looking at him. He meets her eye with confidence. There is no trace of despair, no accusation hidden down in the dark depths. Tenderly, his spare hand comes up to cup her cheek again, as he had done in the servants' hall. She exhales noisily, her eyes sliding closed. The warmth spreads.

And then his lips capture just the corner of her mouth, sucking just slightly. Neither of them move to deepen it, simply sitting there together, caught in time. At last, he pulls away from her, resting his head against hers.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm so, so sorry."

She hadn't even realised that tears have slipped from below her closed lids until she feels his lips move to capture them, drinking them in. He follows each tear faithfully, as if he is trying to disperse her pain this way. After a few more minutes of this cleansing ritual, he pulls away from her, sweeping the stray strands of her hair back. She regards him quietly, waiting for him to speak first.

"Everything's going to be fine," he says, reiterating his promise from earlier.

She snaps.

"How? How can you even say that? How can you give me false hope when nothing in this situation is all right?"

He makes a sound as if he's going to interrupt her, but she cuts him off. She is in full flow now, days – _weeks_ – of hurt and confusion finally boiling over.

"For the past two nights I've lain awake, and all can think about is this baby. All I can think about is how different this situation should be, how you and I should be celebrating this as the most wonderful news, and instead we're barely able to acknowledge the situation."

"Anna –"

"And I hate myself for putting us into this situation. I hate myself for not telling you about Mr. Green the moment that he kissed me. I hate myself for thinking that I could handle the situation myself, and I hate myself for thinking that everything would be all right when he'd left."

Dimly, she is aware of the tears falling hot and fast; it will be a miracle if he can understand a word she's saying. But he hasn't pushed her away, is still holding onto her with a ferocious tenacity.

"I hate that I missed all of the signs of this baby, that I just dismissed the lack of any cycles because of the stress of everything, so that it was even more of a shock than it should have been. Most of all, I hate myself for the wedge that all of this has driven between us."

John does spring into action then, shaking his head frantically, his hand returning to her cheek. She doesn't knock it away, panting heavily as she catches her breath after her tirade.

"It hasn't," he insists.

"How can you say that?" she demands. "I can see it in your eyes. You might be a quiet man, but I've always been able to read your eyes."

"Anna, nothing between us has changed. I still love you."

"But do you love me as much?"

Her voice is quiet, a ghost's whisper, and it freezes him. Somehow, she keeps her eyes on him, not allowing hers to waver. He takes a deep breath. Her stomach tightens itself in knots. Is he going to confirm her worst nightmare?

"I love you more," he states firmly. "And that is the honest truth."

She sniffs loudly, and he brushes away the tears that have spilled. She doesn't quite know how to respond to that, not when he's been so distant with her in recent days. He must realise this, for he shuffles closer, moving to grasp both of her hands within his.

"There are no excuses for the way that I have behaved since you told me the news," he says. "I am thoroughly ashamed of myself. I've been nothing but a useless husband again. I haven't been here for you, and I haven't given you the support you need. There's no wonder that you've been thinking the things that you have. But I swear to you, Anna, that I will never stop loving you."

"But I don't understand. What's happened to make you feel so differently?"

He grips her hands tighter, his eyes imploring. "You. You made me realise the most important thing in all of this."

"But what –"

One of his hands leaves hers, his index finger pressing tenderly against her lip to keep her quiet. "At first, I was horrified, I will admit. I didn't know what to do with the news, or how I would cope knowing that I'll never know if the baby is mine. I'll never know if I'm raising a child that was created because its parents love each other and wanted to show that love for each other, or if I would have to raise a child that had been conceived in the worst possible manner."

She lowers her eyes, but stays quiet. She knows that he deserves to explain himself – and she deserves the whole story.

"And then I saw you today," he continues. "Outside with Master George. And it was as if everything fell into place."

"How?" she asks timidly. He raises his eyes. They burn into her.

"You were holding him in your arms. He was wriggling around, and you were looking at him. And I realised that this baby's parentage isn't the important thing here. The _baby_ is the important thing, and so are you. I looked at you, and I saw the tenderness that you held Lady Mary's boy with. He's not your son, but that doesn't matter to you. What matters is him."

"John," she breathes. Her voice is an odd mix of fear and relief. He keeps his grip on her hands steady, then lowers himself to the floor with a grimace. She is reminded of the night when she'd been certain that her marriage was over, when he'd knelt before her and replaced her wedding ring. She holds perfectly still as she watches him rearrange himself into a more comfortable position for his knee.

"You want to know if I still love you?" he asks. "Well, I hope that I can give you the proof you need."

Her breath stops short as he gently disentangles their hands, then moves his to the hem of her nightdress. Instinctively, her hands fall on top of his, preventing his movements. He glances up, and evidently reads the pure terror in her eyes, for he caresses her legs just slightly.

"Trust me," he whispers.

After a moment's more hesitation, she releases her grip on him. Her heartbeat resounds in her head, almost drowning out everything else. But she does trust him. He's the only one in this whole mess that she dare place her trust in anymore.

He caresses her thighs once more in thanks when she returns her hands to the bed sheets. She twists the covers almost painfully through her fingers as he slides the nightdress up her body, bunching it up as best he can in one hand. When he reaches her stomach, she flinches, but he looks upon her with reassuring eyes and pauses for a moment. As her breathing slowly evens itself out, he lowers his gaze to her exposed stomach. She has never felt more vulnerable in her entire life, not on her wedding night when John had exposed her for the first time, not even on that horrifying afternoon when Mr. Green had forced himself upon her. Now she has a miasma of reasons for feeling vulnerable. What if John is only saying these things to make her feel better? What if he realises that he's been foolish to even promise her that he still loves her the same?

But she has to keep herself together now, and so she steadies herself and forces herself to look down. When her gaze meets his, he tilts his head in acknowledgement. She waits with bated breath to see what he will do.

Slowly, he brings his hands up to explore the naked planes of her stomach. She stifles a cry, her own hands flying to her mouth. He hasn't touched her there since she'd told him the news.

"Beautiful," he tells her, his voice shaking. His fingers are so soft, so tender. _Loving_. "Beautiful."

He caresses the gentle swell reverently, as if he is praising some holy deity. It's a far cry from just hours earlier. Nervously, she fidgets, bringing her hands down to run through his hair. His fingers probe with more confidence. Goosebumps erupt over her flesh.

"You once told me that you didn't doubt my innocence like you didn't doubt the sun would rise in the east each morning," he whispers. "Never doubt again. I will be with you every step of the way."

Anna wants to kiss him desperately, but she doesn't shift, transfixed by him. He strokes the tiny bulge once more, then moves to cup each of her hips. Now her anxiety is reignited.

"John?"

"Shh," he murmurs, lowering his head. His breath, warm and spicy, hits her belly. Butterflies start anew.

"John," she says, but before she can get any further, he lowers his mouth.

Time freezes.

His mouth is wet and impossibly warm. There is a level of gentleness that even she has never experienced before. She releases a ragged gasp, her head falling forward. A half-whimper, half-gasp escapes from her, but it doesn't break the spell that has been cast over them. John keeps his mouth over her stomach, showering each bit of skin with lingering kisses. The soft smacking sound of his lips is the only sound that can be heard. She falls into the sensation.

At long last, what seems like hours later, John pulls away from her stomach, though he keeps himself close.

"Hello, little baby," he says. "I'm your daddy, and I promise to do everything in my power to keep you and your mummy safe from harm. Nobody is going to hurt you ever again." His voice shakes wildly with emotion, and while he is speaking to her tummy, his eyes have sought out hers, burning, reiterating his words.

Tears trickle down her face, listening to him referring to himself as Daddy. She touches his hair and then his cheek, drawing strength from him. He tilts his head further, returning his palm to her stomach.

"Whether this baby is mine or not, I overlooked the most fundamental thing. Whatever the truth of the matter is, this baby is still half of you. And how could I not love every single inch and extension of you?"

"But what if…what if it looks like _him_?"

He flattens his mouth into a determined line. "Don't worry about that now. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. But I swear we'll cross it together."

"I love you," she says, overwhelmed. "So much."

"And I love you. You and the baby. I promise, we'll raise it between us, and it will grow up to be the very image of you, and I will love it more every single day."

She can resist kissing him no longer, drawing him close. She tastes salt on his cheeks and kisses him more desperately, holding him tight. Her stomach is wedged between them securely.

"Never doubt," he reiterates between kisses, touching her hair, her face. "Everything will be fine."

She knows that everything is far from fine. But, deep in her heart, she knows that he is being honest. He does still love her. He is willing to accept this baby no matter what the truth might be, and raise it as his own. She had doubted his conviction in their love. Their relationship has been pushed to the very limit recently, and she had truly believed that there might be no way out of it.

But she had been wrong. She rejoices in his words, his kisses.

She doesn't need to doubt, not anymore.

* * *

Days pass and melt into weeks. Weeks creep by into full months. Time doesn't heal all wounds, but it does help.

Anna still has her moments of fear. When the baby had kicked for the first time – startling her enough to make her drop her thankfully empty cup onto the floor, where it had shattered – she had been terrified. Everything was getting realer by the day. But when she had admitted the truth to John, there had been no disquiet, just pure curiosity. When he had felt the odd sensation for himself for the first time, he had shed a few tears of joy, something she hadn't believed was possible.

He touches her expanding stomach as often as possible, showering it with loving kisses and talking nonsense about his day. He takes an active interest in the nursery, and spends hours debating with her over the issue of the furniture's placement and the colour of the walls. He makes love to her, spending an exquisite amount of time working her up and up, his declarations of her perfection ringing in his ears.

The others know about the baby now, Anna and John deciding that they could no longer keep it a secret when she had started to show. Daisy and Ivy had cooed and fussed and asked endless questions. Alfred and Jimmy had seemed unsettled by the idea of fatherhood. Mr. Carson had been at his wits' end with the fact that it had become a hot topic of conversation; he'd been unable to ignore the matter. Mrs. Hughes, though still obviously unsettled about something, had finally stopped hounding them on the matter. Lady Mary had been an exquisite combination of overjoyed for her maid and gloomy at the realisation that she would soon be leaving her for another career – full-time motherhood. John had told her that his lordship had enthusiastically shaken his hand and started reminiscing about all three of his daughters as babies.

Anna had been expecting the situation to be unbearably hard but, somehow, it hasn't been. Though it had been initially difficult to hear everyone discussing the news when she had known what she knows, it has been much easier to bear knowing that John is behind her every single step of the way, never letting her falter or doubt again.

She knows that she will never be able to fully come to terms with the things that have happened. Sometimes, in the darkness, she hates the way that things have turned out for them. She hates the fact that they will always be left to wonder. And she hates herself for resenting the baby sometimes, the only innocent party in the whole of it.

But, in those moments, John's hand will rest unconsciously against her stomach, as if he knows what she is thinking, and it strengthens her resolve. They can do this. They can manage.

Somehow.

* * *

Now that she is moving towards the middle of her seventh month of pregnancy, John wants her to start lessening her chores around Downton. They have several rather heated arguments about it until she finally relents, agreeing to allow Miss Baxter to take on a few of her heavier chores while she does Miss Baxter's lighter ones in return. Sewing is onerous after a while, but she can privately admit that it feels wonderful to be off her feet for longer periods of time. Her ankles have swollen almost unbearably, and sitting down does at least ease them. She is due to leave Downton in just two weeks. It feels very odd, to be thinking about leaving the place where she has worked for the past two decades of her life. Not that she will be casting off entirely; she will still visit sometimes in the days leading up to her due date, and afterwards when the baby is old enough to be shown off. She tries not to think too much about how she will cope if the baby starts to develop Mr. Green's features – burned so horribly into her mind – instead focusing on what it will be like to see John holding the baby in his arms, perhaps rocking it to sleep or reading to it to soothe its crying. It is a nice thought, one to cling to.

She loses herself in her thoughts, working her way steadily through the pile of mending for Miss Baxter. Only when she hears someone drop heavily into the seat opposite her does she start, almost pricking her finger in the process.

"Hello, Alice," she says cautiously when she realises who it is, looking over the young housemaid. The girl is nice enough – hardworking and diligent most of the time, though with a tendency to be easily distracted and led astray.

Today appears to be one of those days as she gives a dreamy response and continues to smile like a foolish schoolgirl.

"Is everything all right?" Anna asks, putting down her sewing.

"Perfectly all right," she says dreamily. "I've just heard the most terrific news."

Anna raises an eyebrow. She isn't particularly interested, but the way that Alice is sighing pointedly makes it plain that she is to enquire further.

"And what good news is that?" she asks.

Alice glances around conspiratorially, as if checking for eavesdroppers.

"I shouldn't really say anything," she says, which defeats the object entirely, since she seems to be bursting to tell. "But I was in the hallway, and I heard Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes discussing something terribly exciting."

"You shouldn't be spreading their business around," she warns at once. "They wouldn't like that at all."

Alice looks beseechingly up at her. "But it's not a secret, not really! They'll be telling everyone soon, I promise! Don't you want to know?"

Anna sighs, internally rolling her eyes. "Oh, go on then. Tell me."

Alice looks giddy with excitement, leaning forward in her chair to relate her news. "Apparently, Lord Gillingham is going to be returning from India, and he intends to visit here. So that means Mr. Green will be coming back!"

The scream dies in Anna's throat, even before it forms. She feels herself go slack-jawed. The colour drains from her face. Her head feels woozy.

"Anna?" Alice asks worriedly. "What's wrong?"

She shakes her head, barely able to breath. _Mr. Green, returning to Downton…_

Her world goes black.


	10. No One Mourns the Wicked

**A/N:** First of all, apologies for the fact that I didn't get this up yesterday. I've had a hectic weekend, and I didn't have the time to spend looking over it properly for a final time. I didn't want to post it without doing that. Secondly, apologies for the bumper length. I didn't want to split it into two because I didn't want to make an extra chapter, and make you wait for the whole outcome.

Special thanks to a certain someone, who shall remain anonymous for various reasons, for the help they gave regarding Green's fate.

**Warnings: References to traumatic experiences in a disrespectful way that some readers might find upsetting (this is Green we're talking about). One derogatory term to refer to a woman, which some people might find offensive. Violence.**

**Lourdes –** I'm glad you enjoyed it! I did like writing that scene. Hopefully you'll think justice has been done with this one too.

**Guest –** Thank you! I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint!

**Guest 2 –** So relieved you liked John's reaction to the pregnancy. It was clear in my mind, so I'm glad it translated over well. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and can get some satisfaction from it!

**Guest 3 –** Here's more of John's POV (AKA the big chapter almost all about him). I felt that this chapter would work better from his view rather than Anna's. In regards to Mrs. Hughes…well, she does seem to be nosy enough, but that's not the path I wanted to go with her. I think she knows when to back down when it comes to her prying (except perhaps with Carson!). I'm sure Carson would want to throttle Green too, but he'll have to get in line behind John! But yes, that was the idea behind his return. Once it's over, at least they can start to move on properly.

Thank you all for reviewing!

* * *

_10. No One Mourns the Wicked_

For the next couple of weeks, John simply frightens her. He can't keep still for even a moment, constantly fidgeting, pacing their cottage like a caged animal. If he is given the opportunity to slip loose, then he will wreak hell and destruction.

After she had passed out at the table, Alice had run off to find Mrs. Hughes, who had sent for Mr. Bates immediately. When she had come around only a few minutes later, she had found both beside her, Alice wringing her hands on the other side of the table.

"_What happened?"_ Mrs. Hughes had demanded to know as John took her hand in his, sweeping his other over her forehead.

"_I don't know," _Alice had answered for her miserably. _"I was talking to her one minute, and then the next…"_

She had been grateful that the young housemaid hadn't blurted out exactly what she'd been telling her. She'd supposed Alice was afraid of what would happen if the housekeeper knew that she'd been spreading gossip that she shouldn't have been privy to.

"_Do you need Doctor Clarkson?" _John had asked her softly. _"Is it the baby?"_

She'd noticed Mrs. Hughes averting her eyes as he'd brought his hands up to cradle her stomach, giving them a rare moment of affection.

"_No, everything's all right,"_ she'd said, her voice shaking and her heart pounding. _"But Mr. Bates, I do need to speak with you."_

"_Later,"_ he'd promised, smoothing her hair back. _"Gather yourself together a bit."_

"_No, now,"_ she'd insisted. _"It's important."_

Evidently noticing the distress in her gaze, John had relented and looked to Mrs. Hughes. She'd sighed and nodded.

"_The courtyard?"_ he'd asked. She'd shaken her head, knowing that they needed somewhere more private than that.

"_Mr. Carson's room?"_ she'd pleaded, looking to Mrs. Hughes. The housekeeper had stared hard before relenting.

"_Oh, very well, then. But you must be quick."_

John had led her away as if she was an invalid, his arm around her waist, the other clutched in his. Anyone would think she'd gone into early labour. But she'd held her tongue until they'd reached Mr. Carson's parlour, and had promptly turned to him as though the end of the world had been announced.

She'd told him everything.

And ever since that moment, he has been acting like this. Dark. Dangerous. She has never seen him like this before, and even though she knows that none of it is aimed at her, she is still scared of him.

The date for Lord Gillingham's return has been set. Just one week away. Just one week until she is forced to confront all of her fears. She isn't sure how she is supposed to face him again. Not after what he did to her. She feels sick at the very thought of him, and she _is_ sick when she remembers the way that his clammy hands had pulled at her.

She wonders why Lady Mary had not mentioned it to her. Although she sees less of her now than she had before, she still dresses her most days. Perhaps it had simply slipped her mind as they'd discussed her nearing birth date.

_And how would you have reacted if Lady Mary _had_ told you?_

Perhaps it's better that she hadn't.

But how is she supposed to keep composed now, when everything is falling about her head? God, how is she supposed to shake his hand and welcome him back with open arms, laughing and joking with him at the table, passing the time of day with him?

She can't. For all the money in the world, she isn't strong enough to do that.

* * *

If she has been a lioness at points in her life, then he is a lion tonight, his eyes dark and wild, his teeth bared. He looks almost too big for their room, as if his black anger has made him swell several more inches. She watches him go back and forth with more than a little trepidation. John has always emphasised the prowess of the lioness, who hunts and kills and protects the ones she loves without a care for herself. The lion, John had said, is a lazy beast when all things are considered. Anna prefers docile, she'd joked; tame until provoked or it is needed, but always with the killer instinct. If she is his lioness, she'd teased, then he is her beautiful lion.

Never has the metaphor rung truer. John is a docile man at the best of times, breaking only for a warning snarl when the people he cares about are threatened by external forces. But it has always hinted at that killer instinct, that desire to protect the rest of his pride. Passive until provoked. And then that natural power is unleashed, that magnificent, terrible temper. She watches his shoulder muscles strain and flex beneath his undershirt. He roams without his cane. It lends more to the formidable image. Every part of his body is poised and coiled, itching to attack, to hurt, to kill.

She shivers, drawing the sheets tighter against her. John doesn't even notice.

"Come to bed," she begs him.

"I can't," he growls. "I won't sleep tonight. Not with tomorrow." He gnashes his teeth, muscles straining. Even injured, he is not someone to be underestimated. A thrill of fear shoots through her, not for Mr. Green, but for John. Mr. Green will underestimate him, no doubt about it. And John will take advantage of that, would never relinquish it. She knows his temper, even if she has never witnessed it for herself.

"Please, come here," she says. "I need to hold you." It is not a lie; she is trembling, and not with the cold.

He stares hard at her for a moment with a look in his eyes that makes him a stranger to her, but he does go to her, and there is nothing but John in the gentleness of his touch as he sweeps her up, a stark contrast. She burrows herself against him, breathing in his scent.

"Stay at home tomorrow," he says suddenly. "I'll say that you were having a bad morning, and you couldn't make it."

Anna squeezes her eyes tight shut. "I can't. I can't put on Lady Mary and Mrs. Hughes that way. And _he'd _know the reason why."

John locks his jaw. "He won't be thinking anything of the sort when I'm finished with him."

The thrill of fear transforms into full-blown terror, and she pushes herself away from him. "You mustn't go near him. You _can't_."

"I will not stand back and let that bastard think he's got away with it all."

"Stop talking like that – you're scaring me!"

The dangerous look in his eye does not abate. "I couldn't protect you last time. I will never make that mistake again. You stay here, and I'll take care of him."

"Listen to yourself!" she cries. "It's not you! You sound as if you're going to kill him!"

"I could," he says softly, and her blood runs cold. "I could rip him limb from limb."

A lion's answer. She clutches at his shirt, terror coursing through her like poison.

"No," she says. "Stop talking like that. What about your job? _Me_? The _baby_? I won't have you risking prison again. Stop talking about killing. It's not who you are, John, and it's horrible."

He thins his mouth into a firm line, but he pushes the hair from her face gently. She keeps her eyes focused on his face. The darkness is still there, lingering.

"Promise me," she says. "Promise me you won't go making trouble tomorrow. No one can know."

His gaze burns into hers, unwavering. He doesn't say a word.

"Promise me," she repeats. "Promise me you'll stay out of his way."

A lifetime seems to pass before he opens his mouth. She holds her breath.

"I promise," he says tonelessly.

She isn't sure if she believes him.

* * *

The mixed feelings of trepidation and fury that course through John's blood the next morning are indescribable. His hands shake so badly that he can barely dress himself. He can't face breakfast, even though Anna has prepared it for him. She herself doesn't touch a morsel, tipping the entire contents of her bowl away. He suspects that she's shaking for very different reasons, and it only makes him angrier. That bastard has reduced his vibrant wife to this, a timid, quivering wreck afraid of things that should never have occurred to her, burdened with something that should have been a gift.

They don't speak much at all that morning, preparing themselves individually in their own little worlds for the demons they will have to face. John goes through a thousand different expressions in his head, mentally readying himself for that first meeting.

He won't make a scene, not in front of the family. In fact, he hopes that he won't need to make a scene in front of anyone.

But he does have an agenda, the endless hours of insomnia the previous night providing him with the perfect conditions to formulate a plan of action, and he is determined to go through with it.

* * *

Outside Downton Abbey, Anna stops him with a touch to his arm. Reluctantly, he meets her eyes, which are enshrouded by shadows, proof of her own tiredness – he'd felt her toss and turn all evening long while he'd been staring sightlessly into the darkness. She looks pale now, almost tinged green with fear. Her lip wobbles. He notices that one of her hands has drifted to the swell of her stomach.

"You promised me that you won't make trouble."

"I did."

"You'll stick to it, won't you? I don't want any attention. No one can know."

He suspects that people will find out anyway – just looking at her face will be enough to raise suspicion.

"John, promise me again."

He forces himself to meet her wide-eyed gaze. He thinks on everything that he has to lose, and everything that he has to protect and fight for. She has always been the one to fight for and protect him, right from the beginning. She deserves nothing less than the exact same commitment from him. He will be the man that she needs him to be.

_She doesn't want you to fight like that for her._

He grits his teeth, squeezing his eyes tight. He doesn't want to break her trust. Not when she has put her faith in him, not when they both want to keep their marriage lie free.

She is still staring at him imploringly.

"I promise," he manages. It seems to be enough to appease her, at least for the moment. _Believe_. It's something she's always done.

She shouldn't expect too much of him. She should be used to his promises by now.

His lips twist bitterly as he follows her inside. She should be used to the way that he always disappoints her with words that he can't keep, promises that lie in ash.

* * *

The morning passes by painfully slowly. Every time John glances at the clock, the hands don't seem to have moved at all. It's like waiting for the end of the world.

Distracting himself with work doesn't help. Three times he drops his lordship's intricate things, almost cracking a prized snuffbox. One time, he almost loses his cufflinks down the side of the bed.

He doesn't get the chance to see much of Anna, but one glance at her face as he makes his way into the servants' hall for luncheon tells him all that he needs to know. She's been faring no better.

"When we've eaten, we'll go straight upstairs for the arrival of Lord Gillingham," Mr. Carson announces before they start eating. The maids twitter excitedly. John's heart booms like a cannon on a warship.

"You don't have to come," he whispers as they all begin to tuck in, so low that he isn't sure if she can hear him. "Mr. Carson wouldn't object. He likes order, and a pregnant lady's maid isn't order."

"I have to go," she replies dully. "I haven't got a choice, have I?"

"Of course you have a choice."

"No I don't, and you know it. Look, leave it alone."

He's apprehensive that she might snap, or burst into tears, or both, so he does as he's been told, picking at his food for the rest of the meal.

"Oh dear, is my cooking no longer meeting the Bates' standards?" Mrs. Patmore enquires huffily as she comes in afterwards with Daisy and Ivy to clear the table.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Patmore," Anna says listlessly. "It's the baby, I'm afraid."

The cook's gaze softens, before she turns it on John.

"And what about you, Mr. Bates?" she asks.

"Sympathy?" he offers meekly, and she rolls her eyes, obviously giving up. Mrs. Hughes shoots them one of her looks, but Mr. Carson chooses that moment to stand.

"Very well, then," he says. "If everyone is finished, I think we should make our way upstairs."

The maids shoot to their feet at once, almost flying out of the room. Mr. Carson blinks, torn between looking surprised and thunderous, before hurrying after them in a more dignified manner.

John stands slowly, helping Anna to her feet to let his hand linger over her back.

"It's not too late," he murmurs.

She stares past him, out into the hall.

"Yes, it is," she says.

* * *

Standing out on the driveway only makes things worse. John keeps his gaze fixed on the horizon, waiting for the motor to arrive. He wishes that he could stand by Anna, but he has to content himself with shooting her glances. Even from here, he can see that she is shaking. Christ, he wishes he could sweep her up into his arms and take her away from here, to start over again with no more pain.

Then, the buzzing of an engine, an angry wasp on a summer's day.

He tightens his hold on his cane. Even in the cold, sweat breaks out at his temple. He tenses his jaw. The car draws closer. It's all he can do to keep himself standing upright where he is, abiding propriety.

The car rolls up. John feels his insides protesting. He takes one last glance at Anna to stop himself from rushing forward and dragging the bastard out of the front seat by his hair.

And there he is. Mr. Green unfolds himself from the car. He's leaner than he was before, his face tanned. His eyes wander down the line, and John's blood boils as his eyes rove over each of them.

His eyes stop on Anna. His smile widens, a friendly smile that carries sinister undertones.

The red mist descends, filming John's eyes. His muscles tauten, straining to attack.

_Keep calm, Bates. Don't ruin everything._

Somehow, he manages to keep perfectly in place, averting his eyes. He can't look for a second longer. He'll snap if he does.

Thankfully, the pleasantries between Lord Gillingham and the family don't continue on outside for long, and as soon as it is humanely possible, John rushes to his wife's side, catching her hand and pulling her along the gravel path back towards the servants' quarters. The maids are too distracted by their excitement to notice him drag her into a little alcove, and he waits until they've all passed before speaking.

"Are you all right?" he says frantically, smoothing his hands over her cheeks.

Her bottom lip trembles, and she moves forward to bury her face against his chest, her small frame shuddering. He feels wetness against his shirt, and wraps her up in his arms, enveloping her as best he can.

"I'm here," he reassures her. "No matter what, I'm here."

"I'm not sure I can do this," she sniffles, and he pulls her more firmly against him.

"You can," he says. "We won't let him beat us."

He won't let him drag them down and destroy everything that they've tried to build back up.

At last, she pulls away from him, obviously conscious of the fact that they can't be much longer. She swipes her knuckles across her eyes, chasing the tears away.

"Just keep your distance from him, and we'll be all right," he says softly.

She nods listlessly, and slips back outside. He takes one moment to appraise her, from the hunch in her shoulders to the whole defeated aura that enshrouds her.

His resolve strengthens. He will make Green pay.

* * *

John has no idea if anything transpires after his return inside, for he is summoned at once to Lord Grantham's dressing room, and is kept there for a great part of the afternoon, but he finds Anna later on just before tea, inside the laundry room with Miss Baxter, the location of their disintegrating happiness. He slips inside.

"May I have a quick word with Anna?" he asks, giving her the best smile he can.

The lady's maid looks them over bemusedly, but leaves the room all the same.

"What's wrong with her?" he says as he closes the door behind them.

"She's curious about why I've been following her around all day," Anna says, throwing down the clothes she's holding. "I told her I wanted to help her as a thank you for everything she's done for me lately, but I won't be able to keep it up any longer than today. It'd be too suspicious."

He cups her elbow tenderly. "Have you seen him yet?"

She nods miserably. "It was horrible, John. _Horrible_. He – he asked me about my pregnancy. Like he _knew_ it was his. Asked me if you were happy with the news. And there was nothing I could do." Her voice catches, and she shudders.

Anger burns anew. The arrogant bastard, taunting her in front of everyone. Subjecting her to such torment. It needs to be stomped out entirely.

Gently, he brings her forward and kisses her temple.

"It won't be for much longer," he says.

"It is," she says. Her frame shakes again. "He'll be here for almost a month. I don't know how I can _cope_."

He closes his eyes. A whole month of torture.

Even so, Green won't be around as long as that, not even a tiny fraction of the time. He'll make sure of that.

* * *

Dinner is almost unbearable. John sits there quietly, focusing on his food, listening to everyone bombard Green with question after meaningless question about India and the heat and the elephants. The only thing he can be grateful for is the distraction; Green is not throwing nearly as many mocking looks at Anna as he would have been otherwise. She stays quiet throughout, pushing the food into her mouth and chewing with much effort. He's desperate to take hold of her hand and remind her that he's there for her, but he doesn't want to draw Green's attention, who would surely notice the movement. The laughter and the chatter goes on around him, crashing into his eardrums and pulling him under the wave, and bit by bit he composes himself. There can be no frayed nerves for what is to come.

"So, Mr. and Mrs. Bates," Green says quite suddenly. John snaps his head up, muscles tensing. Anna lets her cutlery clatter unsteadily to her plate. "Soon to be parents. How do you feel about that?"

"Ecstatic," he manages, and even accomplishes a smile. Fake, just like his. "It's a happy time for us."

"And when is the baby due?"

"In just a few weeks."

"Well, how fine for you. What about names? Have you thought on any?"

John glances to his left. Anna's knuckles are white. How he wishes he could spare her this.

_Soon._

"No, we're waiting until we have it here with us before we decide on anything like that," he says.

"What about John for a boy then, Mr. Bates?" Green pushes. "A nice strong name, taken from his father?"

His smirk is all that John can see. It burns behind his eyes. He flexes his hands, counting to ten.

"Perhaps," he says.

The others take up the mantle then, Daisy and Ivy, who have poked their heads in curiously, vying over their own names for the baby. Mr. Carson finally restores order and moves the subject swiftly along. John lapses back into silence, planning his next move carefully.

By the end of the night, Green will be sorry.

* * *

When dinner is over, most of the servants mill around the table for a talk while they get a brief respite before the family retire to bed. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes disappear into her sitting room. Thomas breaks out a packet of cards and cajoles Jimmy and Alfred into a game. The maids linger around, chatting and giggling and sending blatant looks Green's way. He ignores them, rising to his feet.

"I'm just going outside for a quick one," he says, flashing his cigarettes.

"Isn't it cold?" questions Alice.

"Oh, that doesn't bother me."

"Then what about some company?" presses one of the other maids.

John does not miss the way that his eyes fall on Anna, who shrinks away.

"I can think of some wonderful company to keep, but I'll be fine," he says. "Back soon."

John waits a full minute after, pretending to concentrate on his tea. And then he too stands.

"I'm just going to fetch some of his lordship's mending," he says.

Anna's eyes latch onto him at once.

"What?" she asks, and her voice quivers.

John gives her the best reassuring smile that he can. "I've been putting it off all day, and I can't do so any longer. I'll be back in a few minutes. You won't miss me."

He knows that she can't protest any further as it would look odd, and nor can she follow him. He gives her hand a squeeze and rounds the table. At the entrance to the hall, he casts one last smile over his shoulder. She doesn't return it.

He leaves the room. Further down the corridor is a little cupboard for cleaning supplies. Glancing both ways to make sure that no one is watching him, he throws in his cane, and fishes a battered packet of cigarettes and a box of matches from one of the inside pockets on his jacket. He slips them into his trousers, then shrugs out of his jacket, throwing that in alongside his cane. Both of those things would only get in the way.

Satisfied that he hasn't been seen, he hurries as quietly as he can along the corridor towards the back door. He pushes it open. An icy blast of wind hits him square in the face. He pushes his shoulders back. This is it.

As casually as he can, he makes his way outside. He can make out the heated circle of orange flaring from the tip of Green's cigarette. He's over in the corner by a stack of crates. Perfect.

Green looks up at the sound of his footsteps, and offers him one of those smirks. John reminds himself to keep calm.

"Mind if I join you?" he says lightly.

"By all means," says Green. "Though I didn't know you smoked. New thing, is it?"

"Not really. Just something I don't do very often anymore. Only when I'm feeling agitated. Soothes the nerves, doesn't it?"

Green shrugs. "I couldn't say. I'm not one for nerves."

No, he isn't. Just arrogance and threats. But John will show him more. He's surprised by how steady his hand is as he flares up a cigarette of his own, inhaling deeply, letting it filter into his lungs. The smoky taste is soothing, and it clears his head. Anna hates this habit of his, so he indulges in it rarely, only after a particularly stressful day or when he thinks he can sweet talk her into forgiving him his weakness. He'd smoked quite a lot in the aftermath of her confession about Green, and then again with the news of the baby. He keeps his peppermints with him at all times to freshen his breath afterwards, so Anna won't wrinkle her nose at the thought of kissing him.

"What are your reasons, anyway?" Green asks after a moment's pause. "Impending fatherhood?"

"Something like that," says John airily.

"You and Anna have my congratulations."

"Thank you," he says. He takes one last, long drag on his cigarette, then drops it to the floor. He raises his gaze, eyes burning with an unsuppressed hatred. "But we don't need it."

Without giving Green even a second to register his words, John launches himself forward with all of the power of a big cat. He's dimly aware of the fact that he is snarling. And then his fist makes contact with Green's face. There is a sharp crack. Blood splatters, warm and wet, and the sight of it only spurs John on, like a red rag to an enraged bull. He goes in again. And again. Green stumbles as he tries to raise his arms, then loses his footing; he's on his backside in the next moment, swearing loudly and panting hard through his mouth. The fall seems to help him regain his senses, and he is up on his knees in a second, his own dark eyes burning with a chilly fury.

"Not such an old cripple now, am I?" John jeers breathlessly. His knuckles smart. They're flecked with blood.

"I don't know," Green hisses back. "You still look like a worthless old fool to me."

John snarls again and lurches forward, but this time, Green is quicker. He lowers his head and squares his shoulders and pushes up violently just as John reaches him. Through sheer luck he sneaks underneath John's flailing arm, connecting forcefully with his chest. John stumbles. Green is quick to pounce.

Now John is the one on the receiving end of the blows, and he grunts as each one meets its mark. Green is strong and doesn't have the disadvantage of a gammy leg. But he refuses to lose now. Not to him. The blows continue to rain down on him, hitting him in the face, the gut, the chest. His own blood trickles down his face. He can taste it in the back of his mouth. He catches Green's fist and shoves it away, hurling himself back towards him. They scuffle again, two ferocious beasts fighting over the same female.

John can barely hear anything over the thunder of the blood in his head. He hits the other valet's writhing flesh again and again and again, barely feeling the blows that land on him. His knuckles scream in protest when they slam against Green's hard cheekbone. The man makes a long whining noise, and lashes out blindly with his feet.

A stray kick lands directly on John's injured knee. With a howl, John rears backwards. And then there is another boot, more deliberate and deadly this time. His knee gives way as if it has a mind all of its own, and he collapses like the slain Goliath, his head ringing as it slams into the unforgiving concrete floor of the courtyard. The stars are bright above his head, spinning dizzily.

Then, a shadow.

"Leave it, old man," Green croons, delivering another sharp kick to his knee. John cries out. "You're no match for me, so don't even bother trying. There's no wonder your wife finds you so pathetic. Couldn't take her hands off me."

"You liar," he pants. "I know what you did to her, you bastard."

"Did she tell you I forced her into it? How original. And you believed her."

John struggles to his elbows, shaking his head. Christ, it hurts. "I know my wife."

"Every man knows his wife until something like this happens. Women are worse than men when it comes to pursuing the needs that aren't being fulfilled. And that wife of yours, good God."

"Shut up," he hisses. "Shut up or I swear to God that you'll be sorry."

Green's hedonistic expression only opens. "Oh, yes, lovely little Anna. She has exquisite legs, you know. So soft and supple. Beautiful thighs. Shaped but firm."

Now John is up on his left knee, his right protesting too much to put any weight on it. Green obviously doesn't detect any threat from him, for he continues to stand there, his hands loosely in his pockets. John's vision swims.

"And those pretty breasts of hers," he muses. "Would you like me to describe exactly how I touched them? Or what about her pussy? Shall I tell you about how ready she was? I bet you'd like to know. It'd give you something to fantasise about."

John's limbs tremble wildly. "Shut your mouth, Green. I mean it, I'll shut it for you."

Green's smirk is deadly. "Oh, will you now? So you don't want me to tell you about the way that that bitch of yours would have got down on her knees and _begged_ me to take her if I had told her to?"

John's blood reaches boiling point, but he inhales deeply, willing himself to keep calm. He needs a few more seconds to recover, and the only way he can do that is to keep Green talking for just a little longer. If he can cope with listening to such vile words any longer.

"I know Anna," he repeats. "She told me everything. You took advantage of the most beautiful soul on the planet. She would never do anything like you're insinuating."

"Why, because you love each other so desperately?" Green jeers. "Very well, then, if you'd prefer it. Would you like to hear about the way she struggled and cried? What about the way she tried to keep her skirts down? Or the sound she made when I took her that first time? I can describe it all in detail. She didn't want it, but I always get what I want. She's tight as a drum, every man's dream."

It's the final straw. Knowing that he won't be able to struggle to his feet, John does the next best thing. He throws himself at Green's midsection. His arms close around him, and his head shrieks with pain. His leaden weight sends them both hurtling into the pile of crates, which crash to the floor with an ear-splitting bang. This time, John doesn't relent in his blows. They have taken on an other-worldly kind of power, as if God, or even the devil, has restored his strength. He smashes his fist into every part of the other valet that he can.

"What's the matter, you bastard?" he pants. "Is the old man too much for you now?"

Green struggles valiantly, his arms flailing. He lands a few more hits, including a glancing blow against his temple, but John barely notices it, the adrenaline coursing through his veins making him invincible. Green groans loudly when he drives his fists into his ribs. The man's hands scrabble uselessly, and he bucks up in an attempt to throw him off. John is heavier than him, though, and much bigger. It does nothing. For the first time now, there is raw fear in Green's eyes. Unadulterated. He understands the kind of man he's dealing with at last. His struggles become more violent. Punch after punch hits him in the face and against his broad shoulders, but John feels nothing, only the animalistic desire to kill. Green chokes and wheezes, his pushes becoming weaker.

And then, behind them, there is a huge crash. The door reverberating on its hinges. Even then John does not stop, burying his swollen knuckles in his enemy's ribs again.

"_What the bloody hell!?"_

The cry is sharp and loud, like a bullet. In the next moment, someone is behind him, yanking at him, dragging him backwards. He snarls and snaps, trying to throw the intruder off, but he is unable to do so. Green scrambles backwards feebly.

"Let me go!" he roars, fighting as ferociously as he can.

The arms around him tighten. "No."

He finally recognises the voice over his primitive instincts. Thomas. Thomas has stopped him from teaching Green a lesson. He's all for turning on him, too, when the second voice booms across the courtyard, a rumble of thunder on a day when a storm has been threatening each hour.

"What is the meaning of this!?"

Mr. Carson. The fight wilts out of him at once. In front of him, Green manages to claw his way back to his feet, leaning heavily against the wall. Footsteps pound on the ground behind him, and then Mr. Carson pulls him backwards too, rougher than Thomas. He falls back to his knees, issuing a curse as his right one flashes with white-hot pain, his head hanging.

"Inside. Both of you. Now."

He has never heard Mr. Carson's voice so cold before. He daren't disobey the order. Slowly, he pushes himself to his feet. His vision spins. Thomas steadies him. Mr. Carson looks towards Green, who walks ahead of them all, hobbling like an old man. John tries to follow. Each step sends excruciating pain flaring up his leg. To his surprise, Thomas stays close by, ready with a supporting hand.

The short journey across the courtyard seems to take years, but it isn't over as he reaches the reality of Downton's walls once again. Mr. Carson casts around a glance to make sure that everyone is still safely inside the servants' hall. The merry sound of the piano music, along with the cheers and claps of the servants, gives John the answer as to why no one else had been disturbed by the commotion outside. Mr. Carson ushers him towards his parlour, Thomas on his heels. John almost falls inside, hanging on desperately to the first thing that he can, a cupboard.

"Wait here," Mr. Carson snaps. "I need to fetch Mrs. Hughes."

Thomas positions himself by the door, his gaze flickering between him and Mr. Green. John ignores him, instead focusing his attention on the man who has ruined his life in so many ways. Despite the discovery by Thomas and Mr. Carson, he feels a euphoric, perverse pleasure upon taking in his appearance in the light. Green's right eye is swelling shut, circled in a ring of black. His busted nose has left spatters of blood all over his face. John is sure that he must have at least a couple of cracked ribs. He doubts that he's come off any better – the throbbing head and screaming knee make him think with some shame that perhaps he's come off worse – but at least he hadn't lost spectacularly. Green stares at him with a cold hatred, but he doesn't move. The moment for physical action is over.

In the next moment, the door opens again, and Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes hurry into the room. Mrs. Hughes gasps loudly at the sight before her, clutching her hand to her heart.

"Oh my," she says faintly.

Mr. Carson is less horrified, storming into the middle of the room and rounding on them all.

"I want an explanation for this," he growls. "Now."

For a moment, John freezes. He can't betray Anna's wish of never letting the news get out. But then he looks at Green's battered face. He imagines the tall tales that he will weave, have everyone eating out of the palm of his hand. He and Anna might become the outcasts of the story.

It's time for the whole truth and nothing but the truth. They've kept the secret for too long, tried to live a lie.

They can't do it any longer.

"He attacked Anna," he says quietly.

The whole room lapses into stunned silence. Even Thomas holds back any scathing comment he might have, staring.

"I beg your pardon?" says Mr. Carson. "_Attacked _Anna?"

Mrs. Hughes turns to look at Green, unblinking. John chances a glance at him. He stares straight ahead.

"Mr. Green?" Mr. Carson prompts. His voice is colder than the Atlantic Ocean. "What is Mr. Bates trying to say?"

No response. A rat caught in a trap, with no way out. John knows that Green can't protest – or at least he can't plead total innocence. But he knows the other valet won't give up without some kind of fight. Rats will gnaw off their own legs to survive, John had once read.

"I wouldn't call it an attack. Not with her being a willing participant."

"You liar," snarls John. "How can you stand there and muddy the name of my wife after the way that you defiled her?"

Mr. Carson looks ill. "I want the _truth_, whatever that might be."

"You've worked with Anna for years. You know her character. She would _never_ do anything like that. Green is lying."

"Mr. Bates is right." It's _Thomas_ defending him. "That's not Anna."

"Of course it isn't," agrees Mrs. Hughes. Her voice is shaking.

"He forced himself on her," continues John, and he doesn't care that tears have welled up in his eyes. "He cornered her in the laundry room, and he forced her to…" He sobs. Mrs. Hughes' arm comes around him. He leans heavily into her touch. Green can say nothing. Four pairs of stony eyes are upon him.

"When did this happen?" she asks quietly.

He squeezes his eyes tightly shut. His head is throbbing. "Last time he was here. The day Anna went home ill."

Mrs. Hughes gasps again, and her grip tightens. "All that time ago? And you've kept it to yourselves since? I _knew_ something was wrong, but never in a million years could I have imagined something like this."

Mr. Carson brings his hand up to his face and scrubs it vigorously over his features. "Mrs. Hughes, call for Doctor Clarkson and get the both of them cleaned up. After that, we'll discuss the matter further. Mr. Barrow, take Mr. Bates to Mrs. Hughes' sitting room and wait for the doctor there. I will stay here with _him_."

The housekeeper and the under-butler both nod. Thomas takes hold of his arm. He allows him to lead him away. Mrs. Hughes casts him a worried glance, but she stays silent, hurrying away to make the phone call.

In the quiet of Mrs. Hughes' office, he leans against her desk, his head bowed. He hears Thomas rustling behind him, then the strike of a match and the stench of smoke. Then, a touch on the shoulder. He turns wearily, and is greeted by the under-butler offering him a cigarette.

"You look like you need it," he says gruffly.

John stares at it for a moment. "Won't Mrs. Hughes disapprove?"

"Since when have I cared about things like that?"

He quirks his lip sardonically.

"If you're worried about getting into trouble, then I'll take the blame for it. Saint Bates will still have his halo."

"You're an arrogant bastard, you know that?" he says, accepting the cigarette and bringing it to his mouth.

"And so are you," Thomas shoots back, but there is no real animosity in his tone.

John rolls his eyes and continues to smoke the cigarette. It's becoming a regular habit again. But at least it's helping to calm his nerves; the shakes have almost stopped.

"You look a right bloody mess," says Thomas.

"And still better than you," he replies, tongue firmly in cheek.

"What on earth did you think you'd achieve from this?"

He closes his eyes, breathes the smoke out through his nose. "I don't know." And Anna will kill him. For the first time since his decision to go after Green, he feels a wave of burning shame. He's broken her trust. She'd pleaded with him to keep his temper, and he'd told her he would, when he'd had no intention of keeping his word.

He doesn't regret it. He can't, not after everything that the man has put Anna through. But he is ashamed of the fact that he will have hurt her in the process.

"He deserved it," Thomas says, as though he can read his mind. "No one should go through something like that."

Perhaps Thomas does have a heart after all, John muses. Perhaps he's not all bad.

In the next instant, there is a commotion from outside. Thomas barely has the chance to move out of the way before the door smashes on its hinges. Anna flies into the room, her eyes wild, her cheeks red.

"Mrs. Hughes has just told me," she says, and then screams. John winces as the sound reverberates in his head. She flies across the room to him, barrelling into him and almost winding him. He manages to catch her around the waist as she brings her hands up to him, touching his face with shaky fingers.

"What's going on?" she says frantically. "What's happened to you? Oh God –"

"Calm down," he tells her firmly. "You'll stress the baby. It's nothing."

"_Nothing?" _she shrieks. "Have you seen the state of yourself?"

He flinches when she touches the cuts on his face, and opens his mouth to protest, only to be cut off by her own lips. Surprised, he allows her to kiss him fiercely, her fingers hurting his bruised face, his own trembling hands coming up to cup her elbows. She questions him between kisses, fretting over his appearance and demanding to know what's happened. She doesn't allow him to answer, however, bringing her mouth back to his almost as soon as she's finished speaking. At last, he manages to push her away, his face glowing despite his pain.

"Anna," he mutters. "We're not alone."

She blinks confusedly at him, then automatically turns around. He notices the tops of her ears redden.

"Don't mind me," Thomas smirks. "In fact, I think I'll get rid of the evidence of your smoke before Mrs. Hughes gets back. Give it here, Mr. Bates."

John hands over the burned out cigarette, and Thomas exits the room, leaving silence behind. Now that the moment has been broken, Anna steps back, appraising him.

"You need to tell me exactly what happened," she says. "You went after him, didn't you? Even when I told you not to?"

He hangs his head. "I'm sorry, Anna."

"You lied to me!" she cries. "You promised me you'd keep away from him, and you didn't!"

"And how did you expect me to?" he demands. "How did you expect me to sit back and tolerate his smug face, to let him torment us both? Christ, how could I have done nothing when he hurt you like he did? And if he came back again? And again? He would have shadowed us our entire lives!"

"Well, what were _you_ hoping to achieve by…beating him? How was _that_ going to help us!?"

His eyes flare. "I wanted to hurt him enough to scare him away. To make sure that he never returned here. To give back a little of what he did to you."

"He would have gone straight to the police. You would have been behind bars again! Three times in one lifetime for thievery, murder, and violence would have been too much, John. And then where would that have left me?"

His temper is simmering dangerously, too much adrenaline coursing through his body. The last thing he wants is to snap at Anna when she is frightened and angry herself. Scrubbing his hand over his face and wincing as he hits a particularly tender spot, he lowers himself into Mrs. Hughes' chair. Anna takes several deep breaths herself, moving to sit opposite him. Slowly, she reaches out her hand. He grasps it with relief, bringing it to his lips to kiss.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I shouldn't snap."

"It's all right. You have a right to be angry at me. I don't regret what I did, but I shouldn't have done it."

"Who stopped you?" she asks timidly.

"Thomas did. I don't know what he was doing outside."

"He was going out for a cigarette too. I think Alfred was annoying him, and he needed to get out."

John nods silently. That makes perfect sense.

"So what happens now?"

He squeezes her hand, feeling a stab of fear that he won't admit to. "I don't know. Doctor Clarkson is coming down to take a look at us. After that…who knows."

Anna moves forward, tentatively reaching out to touch him. "Let me take a proper look at you first."

He closes his eyes as her gentle fingers probe. It's soothing even if it hurts, her tenderness overwhelming. It's better than any salve Doctor Clarkson could give him. Her fingers quest into his hair, running through the locks. And then she pauses, drawing away, staring down at her fingertips. It takes a moment for him to realise why.

"You're bleeding," she says, surprised. He reaches his own hand up.

"I hit my head outside when I fell. But I'll be all right."

She kisses him again, gripping onto his shoulders. He coaxes her upwards.

"Off the floor," he says. "That's not good for you or the baby."

She sighs, but doesn't argue, falling back into her seat. John drags his own chair beside hers, reaching out to press his palm against her swollen stomach. He takes a deep breath. She has to know what else he's done against her wishes.

"Anna, they know everything," he says quietly.

For a moment, the words don't seem to register. "What?"

"Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes, and Thomas. They wanted to know what had happened, why I had attacked Green. I had to tell them the truth."

Anna wilts completely, a summer flower lost to the winter. He smooths his thumb across her belly. She doesn't seem angry at him.

"How can I ever face anyone again?" she says.

"You can. You're incredible, Anna. You can do anything."

She shakes her head. "I can't."

Her despondency is terrifying. But then the baby kicks beneath his hand, reminding him of their strength.

"We can," he says decisively. "You and me together."

She sniffles, and he brings her closer, kissing her forehead, her cheek, her mouth. It's chaste but lingering, and she presses her hand on top of his, holding it against her bump. They don't break apart until they hear the door opening, and even then John keeps his hand against her stomach, as tender as he can.

It's Mrs. Hughes, and Doctor Clarkson is in tow.

"My goodness, I wasn't expecting this," he says, but he passes no judgement and presses for no more answers, busying himself with checking him over. His cuts need cleaning, and he winces at the antiseptic. He is given some salve for the bruising, although it will take several days for it to go down, the doctor tells him.

"There was blood at the back of his head," Anna pipes up.

Doctor Clarkson bids him lean forward, and Anna lovingly parts his hair. John stares down at the floor while Doctor Clarkson _ums_ and _aahs_, biting his lip to stop himself from hissing in pain. Eventually, the doctor urges him upright.

"The damage there doesn't seem too bad," he says. "It's stopped bleeding, so I don't think I need to take any action. How do you feel?"

"I've got a headache, but I suppose that's to be expected."

"Take some aspirin for that. What about blurry eyesight? Fatigue?"

"I was dizzy before, and my eyesight was shot, but it's cleared now. I'm not tired either."

"Very good. I don't believe you've got concussion. Just keep an eye on him, Mrs. Bates, and make sure he rests."

"Yes, Doctor."

"Now, I must hurry and see Mr. Green. Take care, Mr. Bates, Mrs. Bates."

Doctor Clarkson takes his leave. Anna and John remain where they are, until Mrs. Hughes knocks on the door. Her face is pale, set.

"You're to go to the library at once," she says. "Lord Grantham wants to see you."

* * *

The fire's crackle is the only sound that can be heard in the room. Anna stands quivering by his side. He holds her hand tightly in his own, propriety be damned. He won't let her go now.

Five pairs of eyes are trained on them. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes stand one side. Lord Grantham, Lord Gillingham, and Lady Mary stand on the other. Green is in Lord Grantham's study, with Thomas standing watch over him. John is relieved about that. He doesn't know what he would have done if Green had been here, and he'd been forced to listen to him repeat the things he'd said all over again, and he's sure that it would only have made Anna freeze up entirely. It's also a credit to Lord Gillingham, he thinks, for not taking his valet's side immediately and denouncing Anna as a liar. Perhaps one day he really will be a good match for Lady Mary. He seems to take her word on board earnestly.

"Anna, would you like to sit down?" Lord Grantham asks kindly. "Bates, get her into a seat."

John nods and gently brings his spare arm around her, coaxing her over to the seat by the fire. His cane is by the door, but he's restored his jacket to make himself look more presentable, hiding the blood from view. There is nothing he can do about the state of his face, but so far no one has passed judgement. He's prepared for the fact that he might be reprimanded harshly for his actions, but he will accept his punishment. For Anna, anything is worth it.

Lord Grantham squats down in front of them. John keeps his arm around her, drawing her closer to his side, his hand strong in hers. Lady Mary slowly makes her way to Anna's other side, rubbing gently at her shoulder.

"In your own time," Lord Grantham says gently. "Take as long as you need. There's no pressure."

Anna nods. A thousand expressions chase across her face. None of them are good. John pulls her closer, and she rests her head against him, taking a moment to compose herself, draw strength from him. He hopes she can.

She keeps her gaze firmly fixed on their joined hands, which she keeps on her lap just below the swell of her stomach.

"When Mr. Green first came to Downton, he was pleasant and friendly. I liked him. But he started to make me feel uncomfortable, little by little. He'd seek me out when I was working. Sometimes he'd brush against me, and they didn't feel accidental. And he gave me a gift. A selection of love poems. I didn't think they were appropriate, but he said that we'd been discussing poetry and I might find them interesting. I didn't know how to give them back without looking ungrateful, so I slipped them in here. I thought nothing more of it. Not until he kissed me."

There are audible gasps at that. John tightens his hold on her.

"I pushed him off," she continues. "And the next morning he left." All the way through her explanation so far, her voice has been mechanical, as though she is going through the motions. It's rather unsettling, hearing her explain such traumatic events as though she's merely discussing the weather.

"Why on earth didn't you tell me immediately?" asks Mrs. Hughes. Her hands twist together in front of her.

"I didn't want to cause trouble," Anna says, lowering her eyes.

"Of course you wouldn't have been causing trouble! It was my job to stamp such behaviour out!"

"She was protecting me," amends John quietly. "She thought I was going to lose my temper, and she didn't want me to get into trouble." The whole room can see how futile that was now.

"Go on," Lady Mary encourages her, rubbing her shoulder more emphatically.

She closes her eyes for a moment to compose herself, squeezing his hand so hard that it hurts, her fingernails digging deep into his flesh. He says nothing, soaking up her pain. The hardest part of the story is upon them.

"For a while, everything seemed to be back to normal, so I didn't see the point in dragging it back up when there was really no need to. And when I heard the news that you were returning, milord, I felt as if too much time had passed, and too many questions would be raised about why I hadn't reported it sooner. So I chose to sort things out myself. When he came back again, I told him to leave me alone. And at first I thought he'd listened, because he _did_ leave me. But then he…then he…"

John presses his lips fiercely against her temple, uncaring that everyone's eyes are focused on them. Anna takes a shuddering breath, then continues.

"I was in the laundry room. Earlier, he'd told me and Mr. Bates that he was going into the village for his lordship. We had no reason to believe otherwise. But he must have followed me and…and he blocked my way."

The pride John feels for his beautiful wife is almost overwhelming, even if her words are like a stake through the heart. She's got through her story dry-eyed and strong. He can feel her trembling against him, the only sign of her fear.

"Oh, Anna," says Mrs. Hughes. He can detect the wobble in her voice. "My sweet girl. Why did you think you could keep it from me? We would have helped you!" She sounds quite hurt that Anna hadn't trusted her enough to confide in her.

"I didn't even tell Mr. Bates right away," she says softly. "I didn't want it to get out. I didn't want people's pity – or worse, to have people thinking that I was making it up after making a mistake. I did make a mistake in thinking that I could handle the matter by myself, but I _never_ wanted to betray Mr. Bates!"

"I know, I know," Lady Mary soothes, then looks helplessly to her father. "Papa?"

Lord Grantham snaps back to attention, his tone business-like. "Mrs. Hughes, take Anna and Bates to the drawing room, and wait with them there. Give Anna a shot of whiskey for her nerves. We'll bring Green back in here to hear what he has to say for himself, and then we'll sort out what we're doing with him."

Mrs. Hughes nods and steps forward. John heaves himself to his feet, then with help from Lady Mary, coaxes Anna to her feet. She looks dazed, and allows him to lead her from the room without a sound. Once in the hallway, however, she clings to him harder, her voice hysterical.

"They don't believe me, do they? I can see it in their faces! He's going to spin a tale and they'll dismiss us both!"

John presses her head tighter to his chest, meeting Mrs. Hughes' horrified gaze. "Shh, love. You're not thinking straight. Of course they won't believe him over you. Come on, stop thinking like that. They know you're not the kind of person to lie and do those kinds of things, I promise."

She shifts, sniffling, and he gently disentangles himself from her. He can tell Mrs. Hughes is longing to throw her arms around her too, bringing her closer, but she refrains from doing so, leading them instead into the drawing room.

"We could all see how genuine you were," she says as she bustles about, clinking glasses and pouring out the rich amber liquid. After a moment, she pours a second glass and downs it herself, wincing. John swallows hard. He would love one of those. But he can't succumb to that. He'd never stop if he started tonight.

Anna takes the proffered glass without a word, and John helps her to a seat. He presses another kiss against her hair.

"I'm going to get a glass of water, all right?" he tells her softly. "I'll be back in one minute."

She nods vacantly, staring at her tumbler. He casts her a worried glance, then hobbles over to Mrs. Hughes. Christ, his knee is almost screaming bloody murder. He suspects he will be paying for his actions for weeks to come.

"She's been going through hell, hasn't she?"

Mrs. Hughes' almost unheard whisper makes him look to his left.

"Yes, she has," he replies. "She's been to hell and every other dark place in the world."

"There's no wonder she's been acting so strangely."

"I'm sorry for not telling you, Mrs. Hughes. You have no idea how much I wanted to. And I know Anna did too. But she was frightened of the consequences."

The housekeeper shakes her head. "She ought to know by now that she has my full support. But I understand what fear does to a person, even someone like Anna."

They look to her now. She's hunched over, nursing the glass between her fingers. His throat constricts. "There's more."

Mrs. Hughes' eyes are on him immediately. "More? In what way?"

"The baby. It was conceived around the time of the…when Green did what he did." It feels good to finally speak of the burden that's been weighing on his heart for so long, even if he's pushed it aside for Anna's sake. A tear spills down his cheek, and he brushes it roughly away.

"Oh, Mr. Bates," Mrs. Hughes breathes, and his heart breaks anew at her tone of voice. "It didn't even cross my mind. How are you even coping?" Her arms come around hm. She's _hugging_ him. He stiffens for a second, then leans in to her support.

"I can't let it bother me," he says. "It would destroy Anna. We have to make the best of it now."

"But even so…" She trails off, then sniffs. "You've been through so much."

His shoulders sag. It's as if the world is determined that they shouldn't get their happy end.

Mrs. Hughes disentangles herself then, asking silent permission with her eyes to go to Anna. He nods, watches her cross the room and sink down beside her, putting her arms around her and drawing her closer. The dam breaks. Anna sobs. John turns away to give them some privacy.

How long they stay there in that room, he doesn't know. He paces despite the searing pain in his knee, then moves to sit beside Anna again, taking her hand. She keeps her head against Mrs. Hughes' shoulder, but clasps his hand just as tightly.

Together, they wait for judgement.

And, at last, it comes in the shape of Mr. Carson, who enters the room tentatively, as though he's afraid of what he will find. All three of them look up in tandem, but the butler's face expression gives nothing away.

"His lordship wants to see you again," he says.

Anna turns to him with fear in her eyes. It's his turn to pick up the months of hope and unwavering belief that she showed him through his incarceration.

"It's going to be all right," he promises. He can see that she doesn't believe him, but at least she doesn't question him. Mrs. Hughes gives her arm one last stroke and then resumes her position beside Mr. Carson. Together, they return to the library.

For a brief moment before he enters, John is afraid that things won't have gone in their favour, that Green will be smirking broadly as they're both dismissed, Anna for promiscuous behaviour and John for violence. They will be cast out into the world with a baby to feed and no chance of employment.

But he shakes it away, and squeezes Anna's hand tighter. Cautiously, they move inside.

The first thing John notices is that Green is missing. He isn't sure if it's a good thing or not, but one look at Lord Grantham's face assures him of his previous assertions.

"Green has been dismissed from Lord Gillingham's employ," he says, and John is glad he isn't dragging their misery out. "It was quite clear from the moment we saw him that he was lying. I won't repeat what he said, but the point is that he's leaving tonight. Barrow is with him now, making sure he takes everything he has and leaves at once."

"Thank you, milord," says John. Anna says nothing, but he can feel the waves of relief radiating from her.

"We'll ensure that he never works again," Lord Grantham continues. "Everyone we know will be informed of his true character, and we'll insist that they spread it too. Green's name will be notorious, and he'll be ruined."

John nods, silent. It's probably the best they can hope for.

As though reading his mind, Lady Mary steps forward, laying a gentle hand on Anna's shoulder. "There are other things we could do. We could call the police for one thing. But that would mean you'd have to testify against him in a trial."

"No," Anna says at once. "No, I couldn't face that. Not ever."

"Then the first option is our only viable one, if you're in agreement."

"I am." Anna's voice is almost unheard.

"Bates?"

It doesn't sit completely well. Green will walk away and be ruined, but his crime won't be recognised by the law. He can go out and do it again and again. Can he really let someone like that walk free?

One glance at Anna's face gives him the answer. He has to, no matter what he really feels. Anna doesn't want to go down that path, and there's no way he can put her through that ordeal. They've already proven that they can begin to put it in the past. If they drag it out any longer, it will only damage them further.

Slowly, he nods.

In some small way, the ordeal is over.

There is still one thing that he wants to know, however, and he clears his throat, looking directly at Lord Gillingham. He doesn't care if the question is impertinent, it needs asking.

"Milord, if I may risk speaking out of turn for a moment, I would like to know how he remained undetected for so long. I got the impression that it's not the first time that Green has got what he wanted, in whatever form that might be."

"You're asking me why I didn't have some inkling when I hired him?" says Lord Gillingham, but there is no anger in his tone. "Well, truth be told, he came to me with no references. He'd been a soldier in the war, and was out of work, and I didn't feel references were necessary. He was a perfectly charming fellow, and I thought giving him a job was the least I could do when he'd served our country. There was never any mention of unseemly behaviour, but I've no doubt that it must have happened in some way before he came to me. It's frightening, seeing how different people can truly be."

What can John say to that? He should blame Lord Gillingham for not checking on Green's background, for not keeping a closer eye on him, but he knows he can't. It's not the young lord's fault, not really, and he does look so remorseful. So he nods, backing down.

"And now we need to do something about the way you look, my dear fellow," says Lord Grantham.

"I'm terribly sorry for coming to you in this state, my lord. I won't apologise for what I did because I don't regret it, but I am sorry for this."

"Nonsense, man. I dare say anyone would have done the same. Now, as I was saying, we need to do something about your appearance. You certainly can't stay here, otherwise awkward questions might be raised. Especially with Green disappearing at the same time."

He hadn't thought of that, and neither had Anna, judging from her expression.

"Then what do you suggest, milord?"

"I have an idea," says Lord Gillingham. "If Lady Mary and Lord Grantham have no objections, they could come and visit me at my estate. I have yet to extend the honour to them, and then the two of you could visit in relative peace. I assure you, every member of my staff will be discrete, and you needn't tell any of them anything."

John looks from Anna to his lordship to Lady Mary. The young woman stares at Lord Gillingham with a kind of intensity that is almost sinful to intrude upon. He thinks in that moment, if Lady Mary Crawley hasn't already fallen in love for a second time, then she will do soon. He is clearly a compassionate, kind man, exactly the sort she needs.

"I think that's a wonderful idea," she says, her eyes shining.

Lord Grantham nods in agreement. "It's settled. We'll go for a week. That should give enough time for your bruises to fade and your cuts to heal. Go home now and get packed. Carson and Mrs. Hughes will assist us. Meet us at the train station tomorrow morning, and we'll take it from there."

"And I will ensure that somewhere is found to accommodate your situation," Lord Gillingham adds. "I understand that you would wish to share the same quarters, given the circumstances."

Embarrassingly, John feels himself choke up a little at the overwhelming kindness everyone is showing them. He sees it as a sign that the conversation should draw to an end quickly.

"Thank you," he says, offering his hand to shake everyone's respectively. "You have no idea how much I appreciate this."

They accept his gratitude silently; Lady Mary gives his hand an extra squeeze.

"You must both be exhausted. Rest while you can. Anna, I'll speak to you in the morning."

"Yes, milady," she murmurs.

"Carson, Mrs. Hughes, take Anna back downstairs and clear everyone away for bed so that Bates doesn't get seen. Bates, wait here for a few minutes to give them a chance to do it."

John can't argue with that, not after everything the family has done for him, so he nods and walks Anna to the door, letting go of her hand with great reluctance.

"I'll be all right," she whispers. "I'll wait at the back door for you."

She departs then, nestled between the butler and the housekeeper. Lady Mary and Lord Gillingham take their leave too, and John and Lord Grantham are alone. As soon as the door is clicked closed behind them, John sinks down onto the sofa, holding his head in his hands.

"I'm sorry, milord," he says.

Lord Grantham settles down beside him. "Stop apologising. You did what any husband would do."

"I couldn't stop myself. He said some awful things, and that was it."

"You did quite a bit of damage to him. Carson told me you broke his nose and cracked two of his ribs. I'm impressed. You were always the good fighter."

His lips quirk feebly. "Too much time spent brawling in pubs as a young man, milord."

"Well, you certainly look like you've been brawling in a pub tonight."

"And you're quite sure that you don't want to punish me for what I did? I would quite understand if you did."

Lord Grantham slaps him on the shoulder. "Of course not. You will not be punished for defending what you have. Anna is a lovely girl, and I feel sick just knowing what she went through. God knows how you've lived through it."

"It hasn't been easy, milord. Not at all. Everything else has paled in comparison to this."

"I can well imagine. If anything like that had ever happened to her ladyship…"

John takes a deep breath and looks up. For the second time this evening, he shares his burden. "That's not all, milord. The baby…"

He doesn't need to say more, for Lord Grantham swears softly, his hand coming back to his arm. "No."

"Yes," he manages.

"How are you coping? You and Anna?"

He runs a shaky hand through his hair, no longer the least bit respectable. "I have to focus on the fact that no matter what, the baby is Anna's."

"And you intend to raise it as your own?"

"Yes. No matter what."

"You're brave to do it, Bates. Not every man would."

"What other choice do I have? I can't lose Anna."

Lord Grantham nods. "Well, whatever you need, I'm here. As a friend."

John fears that he's going to embarrass them both by crying, so he stands abruptly. "Thank you, milord. Truly. It means a lot."

"And you'll bear it in mind?"

"I will, yes. Now, I'd better go. Anna will be waiting for me."

Lord Grantham rises too, following him to the door. They share one last look of understanding before John slips out, gritting his teeth against the pain in his leg. He's glad that he has his cane to lean on now. He needs it.

Anna stands with Mrs. Hughes, lingering by the door. She manages a small smile as he approaches, which he returns. When he reaches her side, he immediately seeks out her hand, twining their fingers together.

"No one knows anything," says Mrs. Hughes as she opens the door for them. "Mr. Carson and I will announce Mr. Green's dismissal in the morning, and we'll make sure that no one suspects any link between his disappearance and yours."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes."

She only smiles sadly, running a lingering hand over Anna's arm. John looks away, pretending not to notice, not wanting to disturb the sacred moment.

"When you get back, you and I will have a proper chat, my girl," she says.

Anna nods. "Yes, Mrs. Hughes. Thank you for everything."

"It's a pleasure," she says, and then leans in to kiss her cheek. She has never expressed such overt affection before. John closes his eyes.

Anna pulls away with a tearful smile. "Come on, Mr. Bates. We've got work to do."

John inclines his head towards Mrs. Hughes, and allows Anna to pull him away. He is tired very suddenly, the strain of everything catching up with him and pushing him down.

Perhaps the shadows of the past will finally begin to recede for their future.

* * *

It is a relief to collapse beneath their bed sheets and find their way into each other's arms, needles that swerve irresistibly to their true north. They lay facing each other, and she traces her fingers cautiously over his face.

"You could have been really hurt," she says.

He squeezes her hips, much wider now to accommodate the baby. "I don't care. I would have gone through anything for you."

She sniffs, crinkling his shirt between her fingers. "If anything had happened to you…"

"It hasn't," he says firmly. "And nothing will. Now that everything is out in the open, we can start to move on."

"Do you really think so?"

He kisses her temple. "I do. I realise that half of the problem was us trying to cope alone. We let it fester and fester, and something had to give."

"It might be comforting to know that other people understand," she says quietly.

"Exactly. We're not alone, Anna, not anymore. And we'll have a week together to get our heads around it all."

"What do you think will happen to him?" Her voice is small.

"I hope he gets run over by a car," he says with feeling. "But we'll just have to hope that living a life of ruin will be sufficient."

It's not the most ideal punishment. If he'd had the chance, with the red fog clouding his view, he could easily have killed Green, and while he would have hated himself for it in the respect that Anna wouldn't have deserved the terror and heartbreak that went along with it, he wouldn't have regretted it for himself. Not for protecting his wife. But looking back with hindsight, John acknowledges that his plan would never have worked. Despite the pain that Anna has been put through tonight, he knows it has worked out better for the long run.

She nods her head, then tentatively snuggles up to him. He opens his arms and pulls her as close as her stomach will allow. Its warmth spreads to him. The baby – whatever the truth of the matter might be – needs to be their priority now. He pecks her forehead and then her mouth, his eyes roving over her.

"I'm sorry for not listening to you," he says. "For lying to you. You didn't deserve that."

"It's all right, John. I forgive you. You did what you did to protect me, and I have to love that. And if I'd known what you were planning to do…well, I would never have allowed you to get away with it. And then we wouldn't have the result we have now. I'm glad you did. Knowing that you were willing to get hurt to protect me…" Shaking, her fingers trace the marks on his face again, soft and probing. "I love you."

"I love you," he echoes. "Let's try and get some rest. We've got a strange week ahead of us."

She nods, running her hand through his hair. "And you're sure that you'll be all right if I sleep? You're not going to take a turn for the worse on me?"

He kisses her again. "I won't, I promise. And that's something I have no intention of breaking."

Satisfied, she settles back down, burrowing her head into his chest. The swell of her stomach lays against his side, and he move his arm around her, drawing her closer, resting it on her back. Though she tries to keep her eyes open, she is evidently exhausted by everything that has transpired, and her eyelids flutter. He brings his hand up and reaches for her left one, which rests on his stomach. She makes a muffled little sound as he fiddles with her wedding ring, and finally lets her eyes slide closed. In a matter of minutes, her breathing has deepened, blowing across his shirt. He cranes his head to take in the sight of her – dark lashes brushing her face, expression finally clear of worry – and feels his heart swell painfully in his chest.

Unbidden, Green's words resound in his head once more, and he buries his nose in his hair, making little choked sounds. The images of Anna struggling and crying are all that he can see. He can't bear to think on the rest. She looks so perfect, sleeping against him. Will he ever be able to look at her again without those thoughts being in the back of his mind, preying on the darkness there?

They have a long way to go before Anna will feel like she's healed. Perhaps she never will. Perhaps _he _never will. But he is determined to make her laugh and smile as much as possible, to give her all manner of reasons to look to the future and not dwell on the past. Only then will he have a hope of moving on. The other thing he has to do is pray that the child doesn't come along to undo everything. The thought of raising a child with the face of someone who had destroyed their lives makes his stomach curdle. There's no use denying it, he would struggle; he has no idea how Anna would cope.

_Don't think about it. Not now. Not after today._

He shakes his head to clear it of those black thoughts, taking one last look at his wife before closing his eyes too. For now, everything is going to be all right.

He hopes that it always will be.

* * *

**A/N:** I struggled with what to do with Green, and even now his punishment doesn't sit right. But it was the only course of action I could really think of.

I won't be updating Wednesday because I didn't manage Sunday. Expect the next chapter on Thursday. I'm gonna have to work like a fiend to get it done in time.


	11. Trust Me

**A/N:** An expert on childbirth I am not. I did a bit of research on it, but I doubt it's going to be perfect.

**Guest –** Thank you! As for the rest…well, you'll have to wait and see!

**Guest 2 –** Oh yes, that actually slipped my mind. It shouldn't have really, considering Carson's track record with shuddering at scandal! I'm glad you thought the whole thing was handled well.

**Guest 3 –** I'm glad you think so. It was a plot point that irritated me all the way through, and I literally decided on his fate a couple of days before writing it. So it's good to know that you thought it worked within the time period. Quite honestly, I got so caught up in writing the thing that I actually forgot about including that – but I do need to go back and iron out a few daft things when I've finished the whole thing, so I'll be able to tweak it and add that in. Thanks for pointing it out! We're very close to the end now, though this chapter isn't the final one.

**Guest 4 –** Thank you! I hope you enjoy the next.

**batesfan2 –** I'm glad you enjoyed it! You'll have to see about the baby!

**Guest 5 –** I'm glad you enjoyed the imagery in this chapter! I wanted it to help add to the tone, so it's nice that you think it worked. It's a relief for everyone that it's out in the open now, I guess. I thought it was important too that John show support and affection for Anna through the chapter, so I'm glad you agreed with me there. I hope you're not too disappointed that we don't see much of their respite at Gillingham's!

**Lourdes –** I love long chapters too, though I'm not sure everyone else does! It's good to know you enjoyed both the chapter in general and John's way of dealing with Green. He deserved it!

**Lauren –** It's good to know that you liked it!

**Guest 6 –** I hope it doesn't disappoint, since it isn't really about their healing process (I do hope to touch on that, though). I definitely agree that it would take him some time to get that out of his head.

Once again, thank you all so much for reviewing!

* * *

_11. Trust Me_

Their week away proves to be a catharsis.

Although initially uncomfortable, feeling ill at ease with the staring servants and being in a space that Green had known so well, they do settle down. The others are kind enough to never ask the questions they must surely have, though Anna has an inkling that they have connected Mr. Green's dismissal and their arrival together, especially with the state of John's face. Initially, the hall is filled with the disbelief and anger that they had been harbouring such a man under their roof, and Anna is sure that the gossip is rife when she and John are out of earshot, but she believes it when Lord Gillingham had said that it would travel no further than the house.

Their days are filled with minimal tasks from their employers. Lady Mary had told her that the last thing she needed was more strain, and that she was to rest as much as possible during this time away. The majority of their time, therefore, is spent together, taking short walks around the grounds, John fussing every few seconds now that her due date is perilously close, or simply sitting in the servants' hall with bits and pieces of mending, sharing silent looks and quiet chatter about inconsequential things that help her to take her mind off the things that she has been through, and also gives John time to rest his leg. Their nights are perhaps even better – they are permitted to retire earlier due to her condition – and they lie in the quarters that have been found for them not far from the servants' own, swaddled in blankets, holding each other as close as they can, lost in their own little world. John's heartbeat is strong in her ear, and she counts each one, treasuring it forever; lying there, feeling his hand against her stomach as the baby kicks and wriggles enthusiastically at his touch, she confesses that she is feeling better, that it feels as if a weight has been lifted from her chest. They make love just once in that room, a reaffirmation of their bond after weathering such heartache, and Anna lays nestled against him afterwards, naked and sweating and shivering, overwhelmed by her feelings for her husband as he showers her with kiss after glorious kiss, murmuring declarations of love all the while.

By the time they return to Downton, John's face has healed nicely, though he's still limping painfully; she knows he won't admit that it's bothering him. Ignoring his gritted teeth is the kindest thing to do, and she does have a number of things to distract her from her own fretting, namely Lady Mary and Mrs. Hughes.

Anna can scarcely believe how utterly kind they've been. Lady Mary has offered her support and a shoulder to cry on despite the class boundaries separating the two of them; the younger woman actually has a very comforting embrace, once Anna gets used to being held against her slim frame. Mrs. Hughes has provided her with the more motherly comfort, a level of tenderness that even her own mother wouldn't have shown.

Also, upon their return, Anna finally bows out of service. The birth of the baby is only a mere two weeks away, and John's fretting is reaching its peak, afraid that it will make its appearance at any time. And he clearly isn't the only one fearing such things, for Lady Mary takes her aside when they get back home, her face shining with determination, to tell her that for the next two weeks, she is to stay at Downton.

"I couldn't!" she protests immediately. "The cottage is fine."

Lady Mary fixes her with a look. "And what if your labour starts when you're in the cottage on your own? Bates will be up here at work, and you don't have a telephone. What would you do then?"

"I could fetch the neighbours," she argues.

"Nonsense. It's an order, Anna. You're to stay here, and Bates can stay with you. Just until the baby is born. You'll thank me when your baby takes you by surprise and you have everyone's help at hand. Ask Bates what he thinks."

"That's not fair, milady." She knows that John will agree with Lady Mary's plan immediately. He's already been worrying himself silly about leaving her alone.

Lady Mary smirks. "Since when have I ever played fair? And I will most certainly be present when you're having the baby. You helped me with Master George. I can repay the favour. No arguments."

Anna can't find any decent reasons against Lady Mary's galvanisingly good points, so she relents with a sigh.

It certainly pleases John when he hears the news.

Downstairs, the news of Green's dismissal had sent shockwaves through the staff. Apparently, the housemaids had been in a state of despair that the charismatic man could be anything but what he'd appeared, and even Daisy had turned her innocent gaze on Anna, wanting to gossip about the subject.

"_Can you believe it, Anna?" _she'd asked. _"He was always so nice to me!"_

"_No," _she'd managed to choke. _"It seems we've missed a lot while we were away."_

"_But didn't you get any information when you were at Lord Gillingham's estate?"_

"_I'm afraid not,"_ John had cut in. _"They're proper servants, ones who don't gossip."_

Daisy had quietened after that, and the message seemed to have got through to the other members of staff too, for they have not asked them any questions since. Little by little, they have turned their attention to the next best topic in the house: the fact that another baby will be born within Downton's walls soon – and not just any baby. The baby of a _servant_.

Anna finds her days dull, simply roaming in the space of the luxurious bedroom. She has plenty of visitors during the day – Mrs. Hughes and John being the most prominent – but there is not much she can really do apart from sit around reading. At home, she could have contented herself with a bit of light housework, but she knows that John's mind is completely at ease knowing that he can reach her the minute she thinks the baby is about to make an appearance.

And the nights are certainly nice. John has a room made up next door, but that's only for show. As soon as the servants' disperse at bed time, he sneaks in through the interconnecting door and slips into bed beside her, wrapping his arms around her and pressing a kiss to her cheek before falling into slumber himself. He doesn't have to leave her until he goes down for breakfast, and he kisses her lingeringly before the cycle starts again.

The only consolation is the fact that it won't be forever. The baby is due any day. In some respects, though she is terrified of what the baby will bring, she will be glad to have it out of her. She's tired of feeling like a whale and moving like an elephant.

A whole new chapter in their lives is about to begin.

* * *

She wakes up this morning with an odd sensation in her stomach. Groaning, she struggles upright, placing her hand over her huge bump. Across the room, John is dressing himself, fastening his tie around his neck. He catches her gaze in the mirror.

"Is everything all right?" he asks her.

She nods with a little huff, rubbing her stomach. "I think so, yes. You should have woken me."

He makes his way back over to the bed and meets her lips in a kiss. "You were so peaceful. I didn't have the heart to. I was intending to come back up after breakfast to see you before his lordship called."

"Help me out of bed," she says, attempting to shuffle to the edge. John's arms move around her in a panic.

"Anna, don't you think you should stop there?"

She rolls her eyes. "I'm pregnant, not ill. Now come on, I'll see you to the door. I think I can manage that."

John's own sigh is exasperated, but he goes along with her wishes, helping her to her feet and staying by her side as she waddles towards the door. She opens it for him before stretching up on her tiptoes, groaning a little at the strain on her back.

"Have a good day, darling," she says teasingly, before pressing a quick kiss against his mouth. His lip quirks reluctantly, and he nuzzles the top of her head, resting his own hand against her stomach.

"All right. I'll see you later."

She watches him leave, then closes the door behind him, moving over to the mirror. She stands in front of it, cradling her stomach.

"I wish you'd hurry up, baby," she says to the room. "I'm getting tired of carrying you around now. I think it's time you came to meet us."

A kick is the response she gets, and she smiles weakly, shaking her head. It looks like another boring day for her.

The morning, astoundingly, does pass quickly enough, and she spends the time finishing off a little blanket that she'd started, humming some long ago heard tune as she works. She is interrupted once by Mrs. Hughes, who brings up a tray for her breakfast, and then by John who spends his time asking her over and over if she has everything that she needs. She assures him that she has, and the day resumes.

And then, quite suddenly, there is a short, sharp pain in her abdomen, a sign that their routine is about to change for good.

It takes her by some surprise, and she yelps a little, her hand flying to her stomach. She breathes hard through her nose for a moment, her heart pounding. Is that…?

It has to be. It can't be anything else.

Taking another deep breath to calm herself, she gingerly edges her way around the bed towards the little bell tug. It will alert whoever is in the servants' hall that she is ringing, and they will find Mrs. Hughes and John. She won't be alone for much longer.

She manages to clamber back into bed, settling herself down as best as she can. She pats her stomach gently, smiling despite her growing fear.

"Well, little baby, it seems like you finally decided to listen."

She doesn't know how long it will be, but soon they are to be parents. Or at least she is.

* * *

"John, stop fussing."

John pauses in the middle of smoothing the creases out of the bed sheets, fixing her with a wide-eyed stare. "I'm sorry."

She manages a weak smile for his benefit, patting the space beside her. "Come here. I want to hold your hand."

He scrambles up on to the bed at once after kicking off his shoes, an action that transforms the smile into a chuckle. "What are you doing?"

"I don't want to get dirt on the bed sheets," he says defensively. "They're not ours, and they must be as expensive as our whole cottage."

He does have a point. Anna glances around at the extravagant room that she's ensconced in. The curtains are made of the thickest material, there is a roaring fire in the grate thanks to Ivy, who had been sent up at once when the news had started to circulate, and the room itself is almost bigger than their top floor at home combined. She reaches for his hand and laces their fingers together, moving them to rest over her stomach. John's little pout fades at once, and he shifts, his eyes large and earnest.

"How are you? Have you had any more?"

"I think you'd know if I had," she tries to joke. So far, there have been a few. They haven't been overwhelmingly painful, but she had still whimpered and clutched at the bed sheets. Mrs. Hughes had responded to her call the quickest, and after checking that she was all right, had bustled away to call Doctor Clarkson and prepare towels. John had appeared seconds later, wild-eyed and terrified-looking, and he's been with her ever since.

"It's kind of Lady Mary to want to be here," she says conversationally, trying to ignore the stab of pain that shoots through her abdomen.

"Well, I'm glad for it," says John. "I'll feel easier knowing that you have two people to support you when I can't be here." He grips her hand tighter. "I know I'm an old-fashioned man, but I would love to be here with you."

She rests her head against him gently. "I wish you could be here with me too."

"But you'll get through it. And at the end we'll have a beautiful little baby."

She notices that he leaves off _For our own_. Of course, he doesn't know that for certain.

Presently, there is a knock on the door. Mrs. Hughes pokes her head around. "How are you feeling, my dear?"

Anna struggles up into a better sitting position. "Not too bad yet. A few contractions here and there, but nothing that means the baby is coming right now."

"Well, Doctor Clarkson will be on his way as soon as he's finished in the village. It seems like this little one is going to be a while before it puts in its appearance, so he should be here long before he's really needed. I've brought you some food to keep your strength up."

The housekeeper presents a tray then, filled with sandwiches and a pitcher of water. She carries it over to the bed and lays it across her knees.

"Thank you," she says. "That was very kind."

"Nonsense. Now, I'll fetch the water that I've prepared. Lady Mary will be along soon too, just as soon as she returns from her walk with Nanny."

John squeezes her hand when the housekeeper disappears, bringing her closer to his side. "And I'll be here right up to the moment that Doctor Clarkson has to drag me from the room. I won't leave you."

They pass a little time together playing a silly name game, mostly to take Anna's mind off the looming task ahead of her. Every now and then she pauses with a little groan, clutching at him tighter, as the waves cripple her stomach. John soothes her with his lips against her temple, murmuring words of encouragement to her. They certainly help.

At last, Mrs. Hughes reappears, with Doctor Clarkson in tow. John stands immediately, moving forward to shake his hand.

"Lady Mary is on her way now," Mrs. Hughes informs them while this is taking place. She moves over to Anna's side and lovingly sweeps stray strands of hair out of her face. "How are you holding up?"

"All right, I think," she answers. "Though it hurts a bit more now."

Doctor Clarkson chuckles. "I think that's to be expected. Now, Mr. Bates, would you mind leaving me for a few minutes while I examine your wife?"

John nods, bending down to kiss Anna quickly. "I'll be just outside, all right?"

"I know. I'll see you soon."

Mrs. Hughes stands quietly in the corner while Doctor Clarkson prepares himself. He smiles encouragingly at her.

"Let's take a look, then," he says.

She watches his face as he examines her, and her dread grows every second as she watches the frown form on his face. Something is wrong.

Her fears are confirmed when the doctor looks up. Mrs. Hughes is by her side in an instant, casting him her own worried look.

"I think we should invite Mr. Bates back in before we discuss the matter."

Her fear grows. John is summoned back inside, and he makes a beeline straight for her, crouching down beside her despite his knee.

"Is everything all right?" he asks softly.

"Actually," Doctor Clarkson interrupts, "it's not all quite right. I'm afraid the baby is in the breech position."

"The breech position?" John repeats. "What's that?"

"It means the baby isn't positioned naturally. Usually, the baby is born head first, but your baby appears to have twisted round since I last saw Mrs. Bates."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"I'm afraid so. Mrs. Bates is likely to suffer more pain through natural birth, but I'd be concerned about moving her to the hospital now for a caesarean section."

"But if it would be better for her to have it done…" John argues.

"Mr. Bates, I'm sure Doctor Clarkson knows what he's talking about," says Anna tiredly.

"I don't want to put you at risk," John replies stubbornly.

"A caesarean section is a risk."

"And I assure you, Mr. Bates, that Mrs. Bates is not potentially going to be in any more danger now than she would be if she had the caesarean section. Actually, she'd probably be in _more_ danger that way."

"Perhaps I should have known. I just thought everything I was feeling was normal."

"You had no reason to think otherwise, Mrs. Bates. It's your first child. You can't blame yourself. But I think natural birth is still the best answer."

Anna can tell that it doesn't sit right with her husband, but to his credit he argues no further, his shoulders slumping.

They are interrupted by a knock on the door, and Lady Mary pokes her head in.

"May I come in?"

"Yes, milady," says Anna, managing a smile.

"What's the diagnosis?"

"Judging by Mrs. Bates' contractions, it will be a while before anything happens. Mr. Bates, you can sit with her for a while until things get worse."

"Have you eaten yet, Doctor?"

"No, Mrs. Hughes."

"Well, come with me, and I'll get Ivy to make you a sandwich. Mr. Bates, you'll ring for us if Anna needs us, won't you?"

"Of course," he says.

"And I'll be here too," says Lady Mary, settling herself on the edge of the bed. "Don't worry, Mrs. Hughes, she's in good hands."

"Very well. We'll be back soon."

Anna settles herself against John's chest, and he rubs his hand over her stomach in an attempt to soothe her.

"How are you feeling, Anna?" asks Lady Mary as she too moves further up the bed, appraising her.

"All right, I suppose," she answers.

Lady Mary laughs ruefully. "You'll be thinking differently soon, I can assure you. And what about you, Bates?"

"Nervous, milady."

"It's to be expected. I remember when Mr. Matthew…" She breaks off then with a shuddering breath.

They both avert their eyes, shifting uncomfortably.

"Lord Grantham will be here later for you, Bates. A bit of moral support."

"I think he'll need it," Anna teases weakly.

He rubs her stomach more emphatically, smiling somewhat sadly. "What can I say? We men aren't as resilient as you women."

Now her own smile turns sad at the loaded meaning behind his words, and she turns her head into his chest. Respectfully, Lady Mary stands, pretends to arrange the things on the dresser.

There's nothing they can do but treasure their last hours of being a duo before someone else enters their lives. Anna has steeled herself to the fact that the birth will be difficult, and she knows that John is doing his best to hide his anxiety, probably to assuage her own nerves. She loves him for it.

Together, they wait.

* * *

Hours pass. Anna converses with Lady Mary while John sits quietly by, never letting her go. Doctor Clarkson pops his head in on her every now and then to assess her progress. Mrs. Hughes joins them after a while, fussing motherly over the bed sheets. Anna pulls out a book and requests that John read to her. He glances at Lady Mary and Mrs. Hughes, his face tinged pink, but the other women pretend not to have heard, peering out of the window down at the grounds. He's clearly shy about doing it when they're not in private, but he indulges her anyway, almost whispering the words as she snuggles more firmly against him and winces whenever she feels a contraction.

She has a feeling that it won't be much longer before things reach the point of no return.

* * *

The contractions have been growing progressively worse. Every time the pain sweeps through her body, she hisses and clutches his hand tighter. She knows John hates to see her like that, rubbing her stomach continually and pressing his lips to her temple.

"God, I wish there was something I could do," he mutters.

She can't answer him now, concentrating on her breathing as Lady Mary and Mrs. Hughes bustle around the room gathering the towels in preparation. Doctor Clarkson opens his medical bag. John's eyes widen.

"It's time to leave, Mr. Bates," he says gently.

John sighs, his eyes searching her face. "Are you going to be all right?"

"I've got to be," she says weakly.

"When I see you again, you'll be holding our baby," he whispers lovingly. "I'll be right outside. I'll be with you every step of the way."

"I love you," she manages.

"I love you too," he replies. "So much, my darling."

"Don't worry, she's in good hands," says Lady Mary. "Papa is waiting for you outside."

John nods, then passes his hand over her face one more time. Anna can barely acknowledge him for the crippling pain that rips through her body. He slips out of the room then, and Doctor Clarkson and the nurse move to the head of the bed.

"It's time," says Doctor Clarkson.

Outside, John paces. Lord Grantham watches him.

* * *

"Everything will be all right, Bates. You'll see."

"I'm afraid I'll only believe that when the baby is here and healthy, milord."

"I suppose I can sympathise with you there. It never gets easier with a child. I remember her ladyship with our girls…well, they were the most nerve-wracking nights of my life."

John thinks back on the other two babies who have been born since, both without a parent. He shudders, and pushes those thoughts away. Anna will do this.

"Do you want a game of something?"

He raises a questioning eyebrow at his employer, who looks a little sheepish.

"I thought it would take your mind off what's going on in there," he offers.

John winces as he hears Anna moan. "I doubt anything will do that, milord. But all right."

"Excellent," his lordship says, bringing out a backgammon board and placing it on the chair that stands in the hallway. John manages to pull over a second for himself while Lord Grantham fetches one too.

"You were a monster at this game back in the day, Bates, but I assure you that I've been studying it hard since. You won't trounce me again."

John smirks softly at the good memory of the war, of their own way of escaping from their harsh reality for a while. "I warn you, milord, I haven't lost my touch just yet."

* * *

Lord Grantham stifles a yawn. It's past midnight now, and the moans from Anna have grown in pitch, but don't show any sign of abating. The game of backgammon has long since been abandoned – John having soundly beaten his lordship – and now John paces again, the hairs on his arms rising in horror at each piercing cry that he hears.

"Bloody hell, what's going on in there?" he mutters frantically, not quite caring that he's not speaking in the correct manner around his social superior.

Lord Grantham evidently realises that nothing he could say will make him feel any better, so he stays silent, allowing him to roam the hallway freely. John is grateful for that, though he does feel obligated to give him the opportunity to leave.

"Milord, if you wish to go to bed, there's no problem."

"Nonsense. I'm here for my old comrade in arms, and I'll stay for the duration. Besides, I'm sure Carson has his hands full keeping everyone in line downstairs with such excitement going on up here."

It's almost unfathomable to him that people could take as much interest in a child of his and Anna's as a child of the daughter of the house. The fact that they're all staying up to hear the good news is overwhelming.

Anna's groans ring louder, breaking through their conversation. John exchanges a look with his employer, and reads the fear there too. Those sounds don't sound normal.

John turns away, pressing his hands over his eyes.

* * *

She's struggling, that's all she's aware of. The doctor keeps demanding that she push hard, but try as she might, she just can't find the strength to do so. The sweat is hot and sticky on her face. Wave after wave of agony rushes through her body, and she cries out, her shrieks echoing throughout the room. Mrs. Hughes bathes her forehead with a rag, and Lady Mary squeezes hold of her hand. It hits her with clarity then. She can't do this alone.

"John!" she chokes. "I want John!"

In her pain infused haze, she sees the two of them exchange worried looks over her.

"Anna," Mrs. Hughes says gently. "Mr. Bates can't come in here."

"I _need_ him," she cries, clutching at her hand. Another waves crashes over her, and she howls louder.

"Let him in," comes Doctor Clarkson's authoritative tone. "She's in for a rough time soon. If seeing Mr. Bates is the only thing that will get her through it, then we must allow it."

In the next instant, the door is creaking open. The nurse speaks, and she hears John fly into the room, calling out for her.

"Anna, my darling," he exclaims, charging to her side as quickly as he can. Mrs. Hughes steps out of the way to allow him to take his place beside her, his palm cupping her cheek. She clutches desperately at his arm, her eyes seeking his out, trembling in pain. He smoothes her hair back from her face, his own hand trembling.

"It's all right, my darling, everything's going to be all right," he says over and over, barely certain of the words himself.

She shakes her head wildly, clutching tighter. "I can't do it, John. I can't!"

"You can!" he repeats, urgently. "You can do anything. I know you can."

Another wave cripples her, and she yelps, tears slipping down her cheeks.

"It needs to start again now," says Doctor Clarkson behind them. "Mr. Bates, you have to go."

"No!" Anna shrieks. "No, John!"

He looks torn, turning to the doctor.

"No," she hears him say. "You must go. Don't distress her further."

John chews his lip, pressing a fierce kiss against her hand before disentangling himself. She fights for him again, but he keeps out of her reach.

"I'm right outside the door," he tells her. "I'm with you every step of the way, my love. You can do it. I know you can."

With those words, he is gone, and she is left alone to deal with the pain. Mrs. Hughes moves back to her side.

"You need to start pushing properly now, Mrs. Bates," says Doctor Clarkson. "It's of the utmost importance that you do it as quickly as you can. The baby's breech position is worse than I'd feared, and it is in danger of having its oxygen supply cut off, so we need to act fast. Can you do that for me?"

She nods, though she isn't sure that she'll be able to. She is already exhausted. But John believes in her. She has to do it. For him.

She can barely discern Lady Mary and Mrs. Hughes' encouragement over the pain that almost breaks her body in two. Her sounds of pain grow louder and louder. And then Doctor Clarkson's voice breaks through to her, reverberating in her head.

"You're almost there, Mrs. Bates. Just a little more."

The pain ripples higher and higher. Sweat pours down her face, rolling into her eyes, blinding her.

"I need you to be brave now, Mrs. Bates, do you understand? Push!"

Almost screaming now, she does as she's told. The agony is overwhelming. She isn't even aware of who is dabbing her face with a cloth.

She prays that it will be over soon.

* * *

Pacing outside is the most agonising job for John. His knuckles are white, his short fingernails digging deep into his palms. He wishes he could be in there with her, holding her hand, helping her through it.

And then the screams rise in pitch, until they're all he can hear. He chokes, tears burning in his eyes. For a moment, he's paralysed by fear. He slumps against the wall. Anna's screams echo. He's going to lose her. He's going to be left to raise the baby alone, a baby that will grow to look like Green more and more every day, a painful reminder of why she's gone.

The screams reach a crescendo. His blood runs cold.

* * *

"Anna, oh Anna. You've done wonderfully."

Slowly, she opens her eyes again. She'd heard the cry of the baby, but all she'd been able to take in in that first moment was the overwhelming relief that had flooded her at the realisation that the pain was over. Now, she struggles weakly into a sitting position, limbs shaking wildly, barely able to support herself. Mrs. Hughes fusses with the pillows behind her. Lady Mary swipes the damn cloth over her forehead once more.

"The baby is completely healthy," Doctor Clarkson announces. "Congratulations, Mrs. Bates. You have a daughter."

A little girl. Twin feelings of exhilaration and anguish war within her. She's always wanted to give a daughter to John. Whether she really has is another thing.

Lady Mary and Mrs. Hughes have left her side now to peer at the baby, cooing in delight at her.

"Oh, Anna, she's beautiful," says Lady Mary.

"Would you like to hold her?" asks Doctor Clarkson.

"Yes," she says, her voice scratchy and small. The nurse moves towards her and gently places the girl there. For a moment, she is paralysed by fear, afraid that she'll look down and see Mr. Green's face staring up at her, but she knows that she has to face it no matter what, so she takes a deep breath and forces her gaze downwards.

Her breath catches.

A tiny button nose. Downy fuzz atop her head that's so light it's almost not there. She spies five fingers on one flailing hand, and cautiously reaches for the other, and then the feet. Everything is in perfect order. The wide blue eyes stare up at her unblinkingly. She doesn't really look like anyone.

The others are still moving about the room, tidying up after themselves, but Anna is transfixed now, held captive by her daughter's gaze. Only when Mrs. Hughes touches her shoulder does she start.

"We'll be off now," the housekeeper says softly. "No doubt Mr. Bates is almost beside himself outside, and it wouldn't be fair to keep him from either of you for a second longer. We'll be back in the morning to see how you're doing. If you need anything at all, don't hesitate to ask."

She nods. "Thank you for everything. Both of you." Her voice wavers dangerously, and she swallows hard.

"It's nothing," says Lady Mary. "Quite an experience! I shall let the others know how wonderfully you've done."

They take their leave then, the doctor and the nurse following. Anna has just a second to compose herself before John is bursting into the room. He is wild eyed, his hair loose no doubt from the times that he has agitatedly run his hands through it, his jacket thrown over his arm.

"Oh, thank God," he says, and she can hear the tears in his voice. "I was terrified that I was losing you."

"I'm still right here," she reassures him, her own voice brimming.

He lingers where he is, simply taking in the sight of them. Anna begins to feel a little self-conscious under that intense stare, shifting the baby closer to her bosom.

"Do you want to meet her?" she asks timidly.

"Her? We have a daughter?"

She nods. "Healthy in every way."

Slowly, he edges closer to the bed. She sees the lump in his throat bob as he swallows hard. He kicks his shoes off again and the mattress dips as he takes his place beside her. Cautiously, he puts his arm around her, and she tilts the baby towards him. For a moment, she thinks that he will reject the both of them, that he'll see Mr. Green in the baby's face and decide that it's all too much.

She hears his breath catch.

She steels herself, even as the tears well.

"Oh, God," he breathes. "Look at her, Anna. Look at how perfect she is."

"You like her?"

"I love her," he says, more firmly than she's heard him say anything. "Christ."

He holds out a finger to her, and the baby wraps around it at once, waving it in her fist. He chokes on a laugh, turning to meet Anna's mouth fiercely. She kisses him back, needing that reassurance from him. When they break apart, they both turn back to the girl in her arms.

"You can hold her, if you'd like," she says softly.

"Can I?" he breathes.

"Of course you can. You're…you're her father, after all."

His smile is blinding, the crinkles by his eyes genuine. Anna supports the baby's head as she's transferred over. She makes a whimpering sound as if she's about to start to cry, but then her eyes latch onto John's and she quietens at once. John draws her closer, rubbing his nose against her head. Anna leans in too, resting her head against his arm, peering down at her.

"So you're pleased?"

"More pleased than I could ever articulate. Thank you, Anna. You've been so brave. I love you so much."

"And…and do you have a name for her?"

He looks at her shyly. "Perhaps."

"Let's hear it, then." She'd charged John with the name, thinking that perhaps the name is the only claim he will ever have on the little girl that he now holds in his arms.

"For a girl, I was thinking Helen," he says softly. "It means light. And she is our light, Anna. The light in the darkness that we've been through."

"Helen," she chokes. "It's perfect."

Helen cries out then, as if she knows that she's finally got an identity all of her own, and John chuckles tremulously, handing her back over. "I think she's hungry."

"You're probably right," she replies, unlacing the top of her nightgown. Helen latches onto her nipple at once, and she winces at her enthusiasm. "This is an odd sensation."

John's arm slips around her, pulling her as close as he can. His other moves underneath her arm, supporting their guzzling baby together. "I dare say you'll get used to it. And I'll have to get used to the fact that I have someone this tiny to look after."

"You'll do a marvellous job," she says softly. "I know you will."

"_We'll_ do a marvellous job," he corrects her. "The three of us together will be a proper family."

"The Bateses?"

"Yes," he confirms. "The Bateses."

Helen Bates. It has a very nice ring to it. Anna believes that she really will become the light in their life.

The new chapter in their book is being written. And she is determined that it will have a happy end.

* * *

**A/N:** Apparently, there are four types of breech birth, with the first two being the best for natural birth. In the second stage, there is a four to six percent chance of the baby's oxygen being cut off with the umbilical cord being squashed or something.

In regards to names...yeah, not a fan of the one I chose, but I wanted something to represent light, and it apparently means "sun ray" and "shining light", so I thought it fit. Plus, it was popular back in the 1920s.

Almost there now. I'll probably end up posting the final chapter in the early hours of Monday morning. I'll need time to gather myself together after seeing S04E01, after all.


	12. A New Day Has Come

**A/N: **We've reached the end of the road for this story now.

Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed and stuck with this. It's been a challenge to write, and your encouraging words have spurred me on to finish. Special thanks must also go to the same certain someone from a couple of chapters back, who has helped me immensely throughout the course of writing this, who I admire so, so much for their bravery. Thank you for everything.

**Guest –** Fellowes' drama can go away if it turns out like this. Do not want. I did enjoy the beginning of series four – now I just need to see the end so I can relax (or give up on the show and everything else that goes along with it for good!). Hope you enjoy when you get to see it.

**Guest 2 –** Thank you! Glad you like the name too. It's bad enough naming cats, never mind kids. (And I'd take the cats any day…!)

**Lourdes –** Glad you enjoyed! :)

* * *

_12. A New Day Has Come_

"Mummy, when will Daddy be back?"

Anna glances up to find her daughter sitting in the window with her nose almost pressed against the glass, her little legs swinging over the edge of the ledge.

"Not long," she says. "I promise."

"And we'll be going to Downton soon?"

"The day after tomorrow, if Daddy can get the train tickets. Why do you think I'm packing?"

"I'll help you when Daddy gets back," Helen says.

Anna rolls her eyes affectionately. Helen loves John more than anything. It's a joy to watch them together. She turns her own attention back to her packing, folding up Helen's little dresses and sorting everything that John will need.

Half an hour later, she hears the door to their quarters opening.

"Daddy!" Helen screeches, flying out of her seat and darting across the room as quickly as her legs will carry her. She wrenches open the door and flies out into the hallway, and Anna hears her steps echoing against the floor before John's voice greets her. She can't hear what they're saying because their voices are muffled by the walls, but soon she hears John approaching in that uneven way of his. He grins widely at her when he ducks in through the door. Anna doesn't return it, placing her hand against her hip and raising her eyebrow.

"John Bates, what have I told you about carrying her about? You'll do your leg no favours."

"My leg is fine," he argues cheerfully, hitching Helen closer with a huff that says otherwise. "Now, my girls, do you want the good news?"

"Did you get the tickets, Daddy?" Helen asks excitedly. "Did you?"

He doesn't answer her until he's made his way over to Anna's side, slipping his spare arm around her waist to pull her snug against him. "I might have."

Helen squeals loudly and wriggles in his embrace. Her blonde curls bounce. John turns his gaze to Anna, who does smile at him now.

"So we're set for leaving in two days?"

"We certainly are," he confirms. "I'll give the word to the lads that they can run this place for a few days while we're down there. They should cope all right. It's not exactly the busy season."

Anna leans up, her eyes shining, and presses a kiss against his cheek. "Well then, I'd better make sure I've got this packing all finished, hadn't I?"

John turns his head to catch her mouth in a kiss, one that regretfully has to stay chaste thanks to the girl in his arm. "Yes, you better had. In two days' time, we'll be on our way back to Downton."

* * *

_Anna steps tentatively through the door, holding Helen in her arms as John struggles with the cases of her things. It seems like an age since she'd last stood inside her own home. Everything is as she'd left it, as though no time has passed at all. Her cup of cold tea is still sitting by the arm of the sofa. She shivers. It's a sensation that is almost too odd._

"_I think we're all moved back in," comes John's voice from the hallway, and in the next moment he is stepping inside the parlour, removing his hat from his head. "How much stuff do you have, woman?"_

"_You ought to know we don't do things by half," she murmurs, then glances down at her daughter. All things considered, she is a good baby, crying only when she is hungry or when she demands attention._

_John crosses the room to her side, slipping his arm around her waist and peering down at their daughter. "How is she?"_

"_Still sleeping. Though God knows how she slept through that car ride."_

_John chuckles. "See? She's taking after her mother in every way."_

_Anna feels a powerful sadness at that. Is that how it will always be? Rejoicing every time she takes on another of her characteristics, praying that she never shows any of her father's for fear of having an unwanted truth?_

_Evidently noticing her melancholy, John quickly changes the subject. "Would you like a cup of tea?"_

"_No, that's all right. I think I'll just take off my hat and sit for a while."_

"_Are you sure?"_

"_Yes, quite. I'm sure Helen will be wanting another feed soon anyway, so I'd best get prepared."_

"_Very well, then," John says quietly. "I'll sit with you too."_

_They sink down onto the sofa together, still drinking in the sight of the baby girl. She's a beautiful thing despite what the truth might be. Anna watches as John strokes his index finger gently down the tiny cheek. His hand is bigger than the baby's whole head, and it boggles Anna that any of this is real._

"_Are we still going to bath her later?" he asks softly._

_Anna is surprised. "You want to help?"_

"_Of course I do. You ought to know that by now, Anna. I want to help do everything for this baby. Feeds, changes, the whole lot."_

"_Well, you might struggle a bit with the feeding," she quips feebly._

"_I'm serious, Anna. I don't want you to ever think like I'm only doing my bit out of a mad sense of duty, or because I don't want to lose you. I'm being entirely sincere. I love this baby. I love you. We're going to be a proper family, and that means that I need to do my share of the work."_

"_Not all fathers take your beliefs."_

_John's eyes darken. "Well, I know what it's like to not have the care and attention from a father. I want Helen to know that I love her, and I want _you_ to know that I love her. I want to be involved in every way that I can be. And maybe I won't be able to play with her in the same way that the younger, more able fathers out there play with their children, but I never want either of you to doubt for even a second."_

"_Quite the speech," she tries to joke, but he doesn't smile._

"_I mean it, Anna."_

"_I know you do," she says softly. "And you have no idea how much that means to me."_

_He presses a kiss against her hair and rests his cheek against her, keeping his gaze on their sleeping daughter. Helen snuffles and wriggles a little, but doesn't wake up._

_She sleeps for a long time. Anna drifts off too, waking a little disorientated to the ear-splitting shrieks issuing from her baby's mouth. She lifts her head from where it's slumped against John's body, and sluggishly sets about unbuttoning herself while John holds the baby, rocking her gently to attempt to appease her. When she's had her fill of milk, they deem that it's best to bath her before she falls asleep again, so John fills the tub in front of the fire while Anna sorts out the baby things. Then, together, they set to work. John holds Helen steady while Anna gently rubs the soapy cloth over her, supporting her head and back as she flails tiny limbs. Anna can barely comprehend how tiny she is, that she's their responsibility now. John's handles her impossibly gently, uncaring that his shirt sleeves are getting soaked, attention focused entirely upon the baby. Afterwards, they dry her off together, wriggling her little toes and kissing her head, shrouding her in the baby clothes that Anna has made. John takes her in his arms then, and she watches as he draws her as close as possible, never taking his eyes off her. He's a natural. A sight to behold._

_It quells her crippling fears just a little._

* * *

John sits in bed reading while she potters around their room, getting ready for bed. Helen has long since been tucked up in her own room, announcing that the sooner she sleeps, the sooner the morning will come, and the sooner they can set off for Downton. Her excitement over their little break is endearing. It's been a while since their last visit there, and Anna herself feels a frisson of excitement at the thought of seeing her old friends again. Instructions have been left with the two young men, sons of their neighbours, who thankfully only have two small families to look after during their absence, and John has stressed that they can be contacted at any time should the need arise. Anna looks to him now, fully consumed by his book. He is incredible, her husband. Everything thrown his way, he's handled bravely.

She slides under the covers beside him, sidling up to steal his warmth. He glances down at her, a smile breaking across his face as he lets his eyes linger across her features. She eases the book out of his hand, marks his page without looking. He makes a noise like he's going to protest at that – he's always hated her habit of bending down the pages – but he stops short when she slides her palm across his stomach. Slowly, she reaches up to kiss him, and he accepts it leisurely, his palm moving to cup her face. Presently, they break apart, and Anna coaxes him down beside her, wrapping her arms around him. His hands splay against her hips, and he strokes her there in a long, slow arc.

"Are you excited about tomorrow?" she murmurs, eyes searching his face.

"I'm looking forward to it, yes. I love our life here, but we have so many memories there."

Memories of falling in love and first kisses and secret weddings and making love. And memories of pain and heartache too. Anna pushes those ones away.

"It will be nice to revisit some of them."

She giggles. "Which ones did you have in mind?"

"That would be telling, wouldn't it?" he growls, his hand stroking pointedly. "Now, come here."

Those words still make her shiver, but she holds her ground. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason," he says silkily, his hand straying lower. There is a delicious purpose there that has her blood heating.

"Very well, then. Goodnight, Mr. Bates."

She nuzzles closer and pretends to close her eyes, but he is evidently not fooled; his hand finds the hem of her nightgown and he slips it underneath, touching her bare skin directly. The touch is like electricity darting over her every pore. Of their own accord, her hands meander up to his pyjama top, unfastening the buttons with ease, eager to lay her hands on the thick hairs beneath. They're greying spectacularly now, something John likes to moan about when he allows himself his vanity, but the colour of them doesn't matter to Anna; they still affect her just as much as they had when she'd touched them for the first time. She's greedy now as she rakes her fingers through them, angling her face to meet his in a searing kiss. They break apart long enough to discard Anna's nightgown, and then she's over him again, trapping him beneath her body, his hand snaking between them to rub feverishly at her low down. She makes a strangled keening noise and muffles it against his shoulder – it won't do to wake Helen – and rocks her hips in time with his fingers. Her own hand slips low to ready him too, and all too soon they are melding together, falling into an easy rhythm, the kind born of years of knowing each other's every desire.

They have some nice memories of Downton, Anna thinks hazily, but they have equally nice memories of their hotel in Scarborough too.

* * *

"_She's settled – for now."_

_John slips back into bed beside her, reaching out to take her up in his arms, snuggling himself against the length of her back. He's warm despite the fact that he's been padding about the room waiting for Helen to succumb to sleep. Their baby is two months old now, and growing bigger by the day. John had been eager to settle her himself tonight, for the last week he has returned home long after she'd been put down. On a rare early evening, granted kindly by Lord Grantham, he has taken great delight in doing his part. Anna has been glad to let him, slipping into bed earlier than she usually can._

_As John begins to press kisses against the back of her neck, however, she freezes. When his hand reaches around to cup her stomach, she pushes it away. John stops his ministrations at once._

"_Anna?" he says, puzzled. "What's wrong?"_

"_I don't feel like it," she says quickly. "I'm sorry."_

_John shifts behind her, putting some distance between them. "It's perfectly all right. You don't need to apologise for that."_

"_I know you want to."_

"_What I want isn't important. Christ, the last thing I want to do is force you into something –" He cuts off, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry."_

_Now it's her turn to wriggle round to face him, raising her eyes to his face. The self-loathing there is almost overwhelming._

"_It's all right."_

"_I don't want any reminders of that, for you or for me."_

_She smiles sadly. "I'm afraid there will always be reminders."_

_He lowers his eyes. He knows she's referring to more than just the memories._

"_I'm sure I'll feel better soon."_

"_But what's bothering you?"_

"_You'll think me silly."_

"_All the more reason to know, then," he tries to joke._

_She feels torn for a moment, terrified of making herself vulnerable again, wary of his reaction._

Listen to yourself. This is _John_.

_John, who has been her support through it all. The one person guaranteed to not dismiss her feelings._

"_I just feel…unattractive, I suppose," she says after taking a deep breath._

_John blinks, looking genuinely mystified. "What?"_

"_I can't seem to shift this baby fat. It's not very appealing."_

"_I beg to differ," says John at once._

"_How can you mean that?"_

"_Do you find me unattractive?"_

"_Excuse me?"_

_His eyes are dark on her face. "I'm aware of the fact that I'm a much bigger build than you. I don't exactly have the body of a young man like Mr. Branson. So do you find me unattractive for being the way I am?"_

"_Of course not!" She hopes he can hear the sincerity in her voice. She finds her husband anything but unattractive. She doubts that she will ever grow used to the way that just the slightest touch sends her senses soaring._

"_There you are, then. I'll think you're beautiful no matter what. And it's nice to see you with a bit of meat on your bones."_

"_Very funny," she mutters._

"_I'm not being funny. I mean it. You're gorgeous. I love your baby fat. It just shows what you were carrying in your stomach a few weeks ago, and little Helen is a miracle."_

_Or not, depending on her parentage. Still, Anna manages a tremulous smile. "You mean that?"_

"_More than anything. Now go to sleep while you've got the chance."_

_She hesitates for a moment, before drawing closer. "What if I said that I'd quite like you to reassure me properly of your assertions?"_

_He stares at her wide-eyed, and she bites her lip. Has she said the wrong thing? Had he been lying to her?_

"_Are you quite sure, Anna? You don't need to do anything just to prove that you can. I can wait for as long as you need me to. If you're not comfortable yet, then please say."_

"_Are you sure it's not you who doesn't want to?"_

"_Of course not. I've already told you: I want you. But only when you're ready."_

_Will he worry for the rest of his days about whether or not she's ready for making love? Will she have to reassure him every single time? She curses herself for putting the doubt in his mind once again._

"_It's been too long since we last did," she says. "I want you to make me feel beautiful and worthy again."_

"_You are always beautiful and worthy," he vows. "Always."_

_In the next moment, he leans forward slowly, obviously giving her the time to pull back if she wants to. She stays where she is. His mouth meets hers, so soft that the touch is almost non-existent, a long-forgotten memory of what they'd once had. His hand drifts down her front, cupping a breast – so careful not to palm it, evidently knowing how sore she is there – before sliding down to rest on her stomach. She tenses for a moment, forcing herself to look up into his eyes. There is no revulsion there. Just pure love and desire. He doesn't find her body revolting. He caresses her there over and over, then slowly draws her nightgown up as he moves down, kissing at the skin he uncovers. She tightens her hold on his hair, hooking her leg over his side, urging him closer to her._

_He does a wonderful job of re-enforcing her beauty._

* * *

"Daddy, look at all the baby lambs in the fields!"

Helen's excited voice is loud over the rumble of the engine. She kneels up on her seat, hands splayed against the glass window, peering out as far as she can. Anna winces at the thought of what dirt will be on her knees when they finally disembark the train at Downton.

"Helen, be careful not to fall," she scolds half-heartedly, knowing that their daughter won't listen to her. Beside her, John chuckles, giving her waist a squeeze.

"She's going to be a nightmare," he murmurs, and she laughs through her sigh, moving to rub her nose against his cheek.

"Daddy! I'm talking to you!"

They both laugh now, and John eases himself away from her, sliding across the seat to wrap his arms around his daughter. "All right, then. Show me the lambs."

Helen leans back against him and points out individual ones as the countryside rushes by, announcing that they have names and that she knows them. John eggs her on, asking what else she knows about them and listening to her elaborate tales of their lives. She's certainly caught on with John's fertile imagination, born from hours upon hours of reading. Anna's own smile only grows as she watches them together, John's head large against his daughter's, his arms steadying around her waist, ensuring that a sudden jolt from the train doesn't send her sprawling to the floor. And suddenly she longs to be a part of the image, for them to have the moment as a family. She too slides across the seat, and John turns to gaze at her with one of those easy smirks that has her heart racing each and every time. He opens his spare arm to her, and she slides underneath it. Helen glances around, her own smile bright.

"Look, Mummy! Look how fluffy they are!"

"They'll only get fluffier when they're older."

"Can we have one? Please?"

Anna giggles. "So Sooty isn't good enough for you anymore?"

"Well, he can have a friend."

"I'm not sure that there's room for a sheep at home," John says gently. "Let's just stick with Sooty for now."

Anna reaches out and strokes her hand down her daughter's back. John coaxes Helen back to sit across his good knee, and Anna snuggles up against John's neck. Helen's weight is warm, and Anna reaches round for her hand, internally marvelling at the beauty that she's growing up to be.

"Are we nearly there?" Helen asks as she leans back against her.

"Not far," answers John, and Anna smiles against his neck.

Soon, they will be back at their old home.

* * *

_Their girl is growing fast – alarmingly fast. She's crawling about the floor now, and Anna daren't take her eyes off her for even a minute, fearful that she'll hurt herself on the fire, or else cut her hands and knees on the rough stones. It makes getting housework done very difficult indeed. It's times like these that make Anna wish that John could be home with her too, to watch her while she cleans. But of course that's selfish; John deserves some time away from them, even if he is working in that time._

"_All right, come here," she sighs, scooping the girl up into her arms and pressing a kiss against her cheek. "You don't half make it hard for Mummy."_

_The baby babbles and wriggles enthusiastically, little limbs flailing and trying to grab hold of her nose. She smiles despite herself, lifting her up in front of her._

_And then she freezes. For long seconds, she daren't move._

_Slowly, almost afraid to do so, she stumbles backwards towards the sofa, all but collapsing when her legs touch the front of it. Trembling, she peers down into her daughter's face._

_Helen stares back unblinkingly, somehow sensing the severity of the moment. The lump in Anna's throat grows and grows, until it almost chokes her._

_Helen's eyes are changing colour._

_The rings around her irises are unmistakeable._

_Brown._

_Her eyes are going _brown_._

_She isn't quite sure how to process this unexpected information. All she can think about is Mr. Green's dark eyes, the intense way that they'd burned at her, all-knowing and sickening. Helen is getting his eyes._

_She barely functions for the rest of the day, leaving the housework alone. Instead, she watches Helen play on the floor, flinching whenever she crawls nearer to demand attention. She doesn't want to pick her up, but she has to, closing her eyes to block out the sight as Helen wriggles on her knee and babbles in her ear, afraid to look into those eyes._

Mr. Green's_ eyes._

_Mechanically, she puts her to bed when she shows signs of sleepiness, tucking her in gently but only able to pat her stomach softly as she pulls the blankets up around her. Then, silently, she too changes for bed, debating whether to wait for her husband downstairs or not. In the end, she can't face not seeing him before retiring, so gathers her dressing gown and draws it close, busying herself with a strong cup of tea to nurse between her hands, staring into the flickering flames of the fire. She doesn't know how long she stays there, but eventually she hears the sound of the key in the lock, then the usual scuffle as John goes about taking off his coat and shoes, leaving everything by the door. She sits up straight and waits for him to enter the sitting room._

"_It's freezing out there," he announces, shuffling into the room, looking a bit lop-sided. Evidently, his knee is hurting him. And then his expression changes when his gaze locks with hers. "Anna? What on earth is the matter?"_

_She rushes towards him, barrelling into his chest. He huffs a little but catches her, holding them steady. His hand moves to the back of her head and strokes through the loose strands of hair. She isn't quite crying, though she can feel the tears brimming beneath the surface._

"_Has something happened to Helen?" he asks urgently. "Anna, please, you have to tell me. You're frightening me."_

_She swallows hard and pulls away, not wanting him to torment himself with scenarios of Helen hurting herself. "No, Helen's fine."_

"_So what's brought this on?"_

_She takes another breath, shuddering. "Oh, John, she's getting his eyes."_

_The silence that follows almost drowns her. All she can see is the pure terror in John's gaze._

"_What?" he says._

"_Her eyes are changing colour," she whispers miserably. "They're going darker."_

_The nausea chases over his expression, before it clears. "I have dark eyes too. Perhaps they're going my colour."_

_His words stop her in her tracks, and she isn't sure if she should feel relieved or ashamed. She hadn't even given her husband's eyes a moment's thought when she'd initially had the realisation. It should hurt them both that Mr. Green is always the first person she thinks of when it comes to their daughter. But she looks at them now, dark in the soft light, still so loving. His eyes are a mystery to her, a myriad of colours, but they are almost hazel. Perhaps that's the shade Helen's will go._

_Gently, John reaches out and touches her cheek. "Come on, let's go up to bed. I'm exhausted."_

_She nods, and orders him up to change into his night things while she puts away her cup and scuffs out the fire. He does so, and she hears him moving about above her head, the floorboards in their modest bathroom creaking, the bedroom door squeaking on its hinges. When she has tidied away, she makes her way upstairs._

_She finds him standing over the cot, staring down at their daughter. She takes in the sight of him for a moment, shoulders hunched and head bent, and wonders what he's thinking. Does he have the same dark thoughts as she does?_

_But then he straightens, and she moves to his side, sliding her hand across his back. He lifts his arm and pulls her in front of him, moulding himself against her back. They both rest their hands on the side of the crib, heads bent in the same direction._

_Helen lies sleeping on her back, the blankets still tightly in place, the light blonde curls tangled around her head. Her lashes are long, and they brush against her face, making her look like a little doll. No matter the truth, Anna has to admit that she's beautiful._

_As if reading her mind, John lowers his voice to a whisper. "You have to stop looking for Green in her. She's her own person. She's not him. Look at her."_

"_I know," she replies, agonised. "But I just wish –"_

"_We both wish it," he reassures her. "But we'll only destroy her spirit if we're constantly trying to find something that's not there within her. She looks so much like you, and let's be thankful for that. Whatever the truth is, nothing can change it. Let's love her for what she is."_

"_I do love her," says Anna. "You know I do."_

"_Anna, I didn't mean to suggest that you don't –"_

"_Never mind," she says, pulling away from him. "I'm tired."_

"_Anna –"_

_She fixes him with a look and slips into bed. He follows her after a few seconds, sidling up behind her and placing his hand on her waist. She stiffens, then pushes it away._

"_Anna, please."_

"_Please what? How dare you suggest that I don't love her? I carried her for nine months! I gave birth to her! Her father might have _raped_ me, but I know she's not to blame for that!"_

_His arms come back around her as she says the ugly word, and this time he won't to let go when she pushes at him. Humiliated, she refuses to let him turn her around, staring at the wall._

"_Do you begrudge me for wanting her to be yours? After everything that we've shared, and everything he did, will you not let me have that tiny bit of hope?"_

_He doesn't reply. She doesn't see the point in prolonging the conversation. She lies rigid in his arms and stares into the smothering darkness._

* * *

Helen skips down the lane in front of them, singing at the top of her voice.

Anna smirks, leaning in closer to her husband. "_If You Were the Only Girl in the World_?"

"What?" says John defensively. "She didn't pick it up from me."

"So you're not the one who sings so beautifully in the shower? How disappointing. We must have a mystery man who lives at home. Perhaps I'll marry him instead. His voice is enough to seduce any woman."

She's pleased to see him blush, and squeezes his hand tighter. He clears his throat. "Well, whatever the truth is, I hope she doesn't start taking it too seriously just yet. I'll be chasing the boys from our doorstep with my cane."

"Well, I think she has a soft spot for young Master George," she teases with a twinkle in her eye. "She talks about him all the time."

John huffs indignantly. "I hope not."

"What, even the son of a Crawley isn't good enough for her?"

"No one will be good enough for her," he says decisively.

She rolls her eyes. Men.

They round the corner and Helen squeals, breaking out into a run, oblivious to Anna's shouts as she takes off down the path. John sighs and they pick up the pace, though she does notice his pronounced wincing. His leg has never really recovered from that fateful night with Mr. Green. Not wanting to dent his pride, she says nothing, and eventually the row of cottages draws nearer. Helen is already outside one of them, banging frantically on the door.

"Patient as ever," John jokes, nudging her. "No one could ever say she's not the spit of you."

Anna pouts and then beams. "Come on, Mr. Bates. Let's catch up."

The door is already open when they reach it, and they both break into wide grins to see Helen engulfed in the arms of her pseudo-grandmother.

"Hello, Mrs. Hughes," says Anna, moving forward towards her.

"Hello, my dear," she replies, keeping her arms around Helen. "I was just commenting on how much she's grown! The last time I saw her she was just a wee thing. I don't think you were to my knees!"

"Daddy says I'm going to be tall, just like him," Helen pipes up proudly. "Mummy is so small!"

John comes up behind her, his hand ghosting her back. "There's nothing wrong with her being small."

Anna hides a secret grin. She knows how arousing John finds their height difference.

"How are you, Mrs. Hughes?" he adds, tipping his hat to her.

The ex-housekeeper smiles widely. "Very well, thank you, Mr. Bates. Much better for seeing this little one. Shall I show you to your rooms?"

Helen pulls back from Mrs. Hughes' embrace, allowing Anna to step forward into it while John struggles to bring both of their cases inside. Helen dances along behind her and Mrs. Hughes as the housekeeper leads them upstairs.

"You'll be in the spare room, I'm afraid," she says. "It's going to be a squeeze for the two of you again."

"That's quite all right," says Anna. "We don't mind."

"And you don't mind Helen being with me?"

Helen's face is shining. Anna smiles. "I think she's excited about it. You'll be in for a few sleepless nights."

"I'm looking forward to it. It's been far too long since we last got to spend time together, isn't it?"

Helen nods eagerly, and Anna feels a flash of guilt. Though she doesn't regret moving away from Downton and starting afresh in Scarborough, she has missed the people she was close to.

They've been up to visit a fair few times since their decision to move four years ago. A lot of things have changed in that time. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes have both retired from service, living in the same row of cottages found on the estate. Thomas has taken the post of butler, much to their bemusement, and a housekeeper from outside has been brought in to fill the other post. Anna has kept up a steady correspondence with Mrs. Hughes over the years, their relationship growing closer and closer. They usually stay with Mrs. Hughes when they visit Downton. Anna thinks the older woman likes the sound of a full house.

John follows up behind them and dumps their bags on the bed that's squashed into the spare room, just big enough to accommodate the two of them.

"I'll give the two of you time to unpack," says Mrs. Hughes. "I'll make us some tea, and I have some cake for Helen."

The little girl's face lights up at that. "Can I have some now?"

"If that's all right with Mrs. Hughes," says Anna.

"Of course it is. Come along, Helen. Let's get you some orange juice."

Helen follows Mrs. Hughes out of the room, chattering happily about her cat and his antics around the hotel. John smirks, slipping his arms around her from behind, bending to rest his chin against the top of her head.

"It's good to be back," he says.

* * *

_In time, they begin to heal. Helen grows. They grow with her. Her eyes darken, but they don't go Mr. Green's shade. Nor do they take on that beautifully intriguing colour of John's. They just are what they are._

_Every day, she looks more like Anna. Blonde curls sprout and grow, wilder than they'd expected. John finds them entrancing, and loves to twist them round his large fingers. Her eyes are the same shape as her mother's, as is her nose and mouth. Even her jaw has the same strong structure. It's a blessing to them both. No Mr. Green. No John, either. But, John admits, he'd rather it be this way than the alternative._

_Helen isn't hard to love, and despite her fears sometimes, Anna finds that motherly instinct, that powerful tug of love that connects her with the daughter that she'd carried, is stronger than everything else. Most of the time, she doesn't let it occur to her that such a lovely creature might not be part of John._

_He's raising her well. Attentive, loving, affectionate. He isn't afraid of cuddling her on the sofa, of playing silly games with her dolls that most men would balk at, and takes great enjoyment in telling her stories about the world, though of course she doesn't understand. Bit by bit, Anna falls more in love._

_The pain doesn't entirely heal, of course. But they can put it to one side. John had been right, despite his rather tactless way of expressing it. Helen needs to be the focus, as Helen. Not living in Mr. Green's shadow. Not even living in John's. She needs to be her own person, filled with blinding light and beauty. And, Anna believes, she is accepting that. Whatever the truth is, Helen is perfect._

_Still, it doesn't stop them yearning for another child. It would cement their chances of Helen being John's, and rightly or wrongly, they believe they need it. Just as soon as they are able, with time together being short, they make love and pray, hoping that a baby will manifest itself and give them reason to believe._

_The months pass. They are never given a sign. They try not to lose heart. After all, plenty of families are only graced with one child, and neither Anna nor John is getting any younger. Perhaps one child is all that they would have been blessed with._

_When it seems as if there is no point in hoping any longer, they become even more determined to make sure that Helen never wants for anything. Outings as a family on John's half-day, nights when they can spend time as a family in a more private environment. Helen blooms in front of their eyes._

_Tentatively, they begin to leave the past in the past._

* * *

The next day, Anna sets off for Downton Abbey, holding Helen's hand. Her daughter chats excitedly about seeing the big house and its inhabitants again. Anna is looking forward to it too. She had told John that he was welcome to join her, but he had lovingly declined, stating that he'd go and visit the old stalwart ex-butler instead.

"_After all, afternoon tea with the ladies isn't really my thing," _he'd said.

"_What are you trying to say? That you don't like sharing it with your two girls at home?"_ she'd shot back teasingly, and he'd apologised with a kiss.

"_Besides, I have an appointment of my own to keep this afternoon,"_ he'd added after another kiss. _"You go and have fun. I'll see you later."_

Now they are outside the abbey again. Anna feels a thrill of excitement. She doubts the beauty of the house will ever be lost on her.

She treads the old familiar path towards the servants' quarters with Helen hot on her heels, and they wait at the back door once they've knocked. They're greeted by a footman that she doesn't recognise – both Alfred and Jimmy have long since moved on – and are led through the corridor. It's all change in the kitchens, too. Daisy has gone to live on William's father's farm. Ivy is the only face she recognises as she scans the crowd, now an assistant cook rather than the lowly kitchen maid. The cook offers them a brief, disinterested stare, and Helen steps closer to her, her thumb going into her mouth despite Anna's constant scoldings about her being too old to do it anymore.

And then Thomas is in front of them, his face expression unreadable.

"Mrs. Bates," he says.

"Mr. Barrow," she replies evenly.

"Lady Mary is waiting for you in the garden. I'll take you to her."

"Thank you," she says.

They make the journey in relative silence. Thomas politely asks her about the hotel and Mr. Bates, but doesn't go beyond that. Helen stares in awe at the butler, who pretends not to notice.

And then Lady Mary is in front of them. Thomas leaves them there, and Anna grips her daughter's hand tighter, reminding her to remember her manners. Lady Mary smiles broadly at them as they approach.

"Anna, it's so good to see you."

"And you, milady."

Helen offers her hand as she's been showed many times, though she looks a bit too intimidated to speak. Lady Mary laughs.

"If you're wanting Master George and the girls, they're further down the garden. Why don't you go and find them?"

Helen looks to Anna for permission, and she nods. The girl dashes off then without a backwards glance, and Lady Mary leads Anna to the table that's been set out for them.

"I was glad to get word of your arrival," she comments lightly as the tea is poured for them. "When was the last time you were up here?"

"For your grandmother's funeral, milady," says Anna, gingerly helping herself to a sandwich. That had been a year and a half ago; old Lady Grantham had slipped away peacefully and with dignity, just as she'd always preached about the English. The turnout for the service had been huge. Willing or not, there had been huge respect in the village and surrounding areas for the old lady with the sharp wit and sharper tongue.

"How time passes," Lady Mary sighs. She's looking stunning in a pale lemon dress that shows off just the hint of a baby bump. Anna feels a little twinge of envy. She would have loved more children, when she would have been able to relish the pregnancy instead of being scared at each step. But for her and John, it just hadn't happened. Lady Mary, on the other hand, has been almost unstoppable. She had married Lord Gillingham, to no one's real surprise, two and a half years after Mr. Matthew's death. They had had two daughters in quick succession, and now they are expecting their third child together. Anna thinks that Lady Mary looks very content with her lot in life. Perhaps she doesn't love Lord Gillingham in the same way that she loved Mr. Matthew, and perhaps he will never fill the void entirely, but they are a good match. And she still has Master George to remember her true love by. He is growing into a fine little man, the image of his father in every way except for the hair that has darkened. Lord Gillingham had understood Lady Mary's desire to stay in her childhood home, and had uprooted his life here for her. They had lived quite harmoniously with Lord and Lady Grantham, the house being big enough to accommodate all of them, before the earl and countess had made the decision to move into the Dower House, giving Lady Mary free reign of the place. John had told her that Lord Grantham had found the move difficult, but it had been for the best.

They chat for a long time. Anna is surprised by how easy it is to talk to her former mistress, who doesn't seem to be fazed by their social differences. Lady Mary is open with her questions and her answers, and Anna finds herself blushing as she asks about her and John's life together and the happiness of their marriage.

"We're still very happy, milady," she reassures her.

Lady Mary casts a lazy eye over her. "Oh, believe me, I can tell. Tell me, where is Bates?"

Still pink, she answers. "He's visiting Mr. Carson first, and then meeting up with his lordship in the village."

"That will be nice for them both. I know how fond Papa is of him."

"Mr. Bates is very fond of him too."

They lapse into brief silence, watching their children play from a distance before turning their conversation back to how their lives have changed since their last meeting. Lady Mary complains about the beginnings of nausea ("Honestly, I have no idea what made me agree to have Lord Gillingham back after the last two,"), and Anna speaks a little more about how their little business is prospering. The light in Lady Mary's eyes is bright. At one time, Anna had wondered if it had been extinguished for good. Clearly that had not been the case. She had often wondered the same about herself in the weeks and months following Green's attack. She's glad that she and John have made it out the other side too.

When Thomas makes his way outside to say that he's about to ring the dressing gong for dinner, Anna and Lady Mary say their goodbyes. Helen bounces up with bright red cheeks and shining eyes, looking reluctant to say goodbye to her friends.

"Did you have a good time, then?" Anna asks her little girl as they walk away from the abbey.

Helen nods enthusiastically. "I got married, Mummy!"

Anna stops short, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

"Georgie married me!" she clarifies proudly. "The clasp on Isobel's shoe broke and we used it as a ring! Look, Mummy! Now it's just like yours!"

Helen waves her hand excitedly in front of Anna's face. The little silver buckle glints. It's an odd shape, most definitely not round, but Anna can't help but smile. "I see. Well, that's very nice."

"Yes! Annie married us and Osiris gave me away!"

"Well, I think your own daddy would like to give you away at your real wedding."

"Georgie says we'll do it again in front of everyone one day. So Daddy can do it then!"

"Stop calling him Georgie, love. I don't think Lady Mary would be very pleased to hear you not calling him Master George."

Helen looks genuinely confused. "But I'll get to call him Georgie one day!"

Anna hides a smile.

They meet John out in the lane, and Helen disentangles her hand from her mother's so that she can run towards him. Anna follows at a more leisurely pace, watching as he scoops her up with a grimace, kissing her cheek as she babbles excitedly. He gives Anna a more meaningful kiss when she reaches them, lingering just a little too long to be entirely chaste, and then sets Helen back down.

"How was your day?" he asks, as he offers his daughter his hand.

"Very nice," she answers, falling into step at his right side. "Though not nearly s exciting as Helen's."

"Oh?" asks John with the arch of his eyebrow. "Why? What did you get up to, little darling?"

"I got married," she answers without preamble.

John pales, and Anna descends into fits of giggles at the look of sheer horror on his face. Helen goes on to show him her makeshift ring and explains all the flower arrangements to him in great detail. John looks quite ill by the end of it, and as Helen runs ahead towards Mrs. Hughes' home, Anna takes the opportunity to slip her hand into his arms.

"Just imagine," she teases. "The future Countess of Grantham was the fruit of our loins."

John makes a face at the analogy.

* * *

_There is something different about John's countenance today when he enters the cottage, having been relieved for his half-day. He seems restless, nervous. Anna pauses in the middle of her game with her daughter, leaving her sitting on the floor playing with her dolls while she goes and sees what's wrong. He's in the kitchen, making himself a cup of tea. Anna leans against the door frame, taking in his form._

"_All right," she says. "What's the matter?"_

_She's relieved to see that he moves towards her quickly enough, leaving his cup on the side to sweep her up in his arms, pressing his mouth against hers. She melts in his embrace, nuzzling her nose against his chest. Thankfully, he doesn't seem inclined to brood today, breathing in the scent of her hair before gently disentangling her._

"_Anna," he says. "We need to talk."_

"_Ominous," she replies, but she isn't too worried. There is nothing disturbing in his gaze. "Come on, let's go through to the parlour. I've left Helen in their on her own, and you know what she's like."_

_His eyes light up at the sound of his daughter's name, even more proof that she has nothing to worry about, and he follows her back into their sitting room, where Helen is still playing a game with her dolls. Anna catches broken words as she babbles, and then her hazel eyes bloom._

"_Dada!" she squeals, struggling to her feet._

_John bends down with a groan, opening his arms as she toddles towards him, scooping her up when she reaches him, pressing kiss after kiss against her little face as she giggles. Anna's smile softens. Dada. It had been her first word. Of course it had. Even at such a young age, it's clear that she thinks the world of her father. And despite the uncertainty, she is the centre of his world._

_John huffs as he hitches himself back up, his hands secure around her back as she nestles herself into his neck. He walks them over to the sofa and Anna follows, perching herself next to him. He shifts Helen over to his good knee, then encourages Anna into his spare arm. She goes willingly._

"_Right, John Bates," she says. "Talk to me."_

_He's silent for a moment, and then he speaks. She could never have imagined the words._

"_Anna…how do you feel about living out an old dream?"_

_She pauses for a moment, then pushes herself away from him. "What?"_

_There is nothing but sincerity in his eyes. "The hotel. What would you say to starting again elsewhere?"_

_She cannot explain the emotions that well up inside her. She had begun to think that their old dream was something that was long forgotten._

"_What's brought this on?" she manages._

_He bounces Helen on his knee, and she shrieks. The answer is clear, but he voices it anyway. "We've made some beautiful memories here, but I think it's time to start again. We've had some…some difficult times too. And we're doing well. I know we are. But I think we'd do even better away from here, away from everything. Helen's old enough now, we'd be able to concentrate our efforts on setting up together without her needing our attention every second of the day. Let's make some new memories."_

_She likes the idea of them starting again and making new memories somewhere else. Just a place of happy memories for the three of them. No pain, no heartache._

"_How long have you been thinking of this?" she asks._

"_Months," he replies. "I've been…I've been doing a little research. If we sold my mother's house and combined it with our savings, we could buy somewhere modest and still have a little left over for if it's ever needed. We wouldn't need to move far from here, so you could see Mrs. Hughes and the others whenever you wanted. I've found a few prospects, if you're interested. Of course, if you'd rather not –"_

_She stops him then with her mouth against his, and Helen giggles and claps her little hands in delight, almost as if she knows what they're discussing._

"_It sounds perfect," she says. "I'd love it."_

_A fresh start. No longer entering the bedroom and remembering what it had felt like to break down in John's arms and replay over and over the way that Mr. Green had touched her. And she sees it in John's eyes sometimes. The agony of remembering the way she'd collapsed into his embrace. Replacing her wedding ring on that dark night. He doesn't want that either. They just want the knowledge of happy memories._

"_It might take a while," she says softly. "Let's start planning."_

* * *

The days pass by peacefully. They all take a trip together into Ripon, which Mrs. Hughes seems to really enjoy. They visit Mr. Carson, who is clearly fond of their girl, although he is much more reserved in his affections. They also take a little walk as a family, and Anna and John show Helen where they'd lived when they'd been at Downton, pointing out the cottage as they stroll by. It brings back nostalgic memories of their own, of pottering about their little kitchen, of their nights snuggled in front of the fire, and more heated memories of making love across every available surface. The dark memories come hand in hand with it, but Anna pushes those away. She is past the point of dwelling.

Helen's face is bright and interested as she looks up at the cottage. "Is that where you and Daddy found out about me, Mummy?"

She and John exchange looks, tinged with longing and despair. "Oh, yes, it was. We were very fortunate to have you."

"And how did I get in your tummy?" she asks innocently.

"I think that's a conversation for another day," John says, exchanging another look with Anna. She manages a smile, remembering the tender way he'd made love to her. The way he still does make love to her.

Helen quietly accepts that, though the frown on her face makes it clear that she'd like to know more. Anna takes one of her hands, and John takes the other, and they turn back in the direction of Mrs. Hughes'.

That night, under the cloak of darkness and a shroud of guilt for doing it in Mrs. Hughes' spare bed, she shifts above him, reaffirming their devotion, muffling their sounds of pleasure and need against each other's bare shoulders and mouths, their hands never stilling as they move in a dance as old as time.

* * *

_It's with a heavy heart that they leave Downton behind them. Two year old Helen stands holding her mother's hand as they say their goodbyes to the people who have enriched their lives so much. The people she has known for years, like Daisy and Mrs. Patmore and Mr. Carson give more affectionate goodbyes, and Mrs. Hughes the most affectionate of all; Anna promises faithfully to keep in touch and write frequently. Lady Mary requests the same too, bending down to Helen's level and telling her that she's a very good girl. Out of the corner of her eye, Anna notices John shaking hands firmly with his lordship, the two of them exchanging a few words. John tells her in the car that will take them to the station that his lordship had also asked for him to keep in touch._

_The journey to their new home is long enough, and Anna and Helen delight in the sights of the swooping gulls and the smell of the salt air. John is a little less awed, having taken trips to the seaside several times in his childhood to get him away from the smog of London. That was after he'd left the beautiful green scenery of Ireland, of course._

_Their hotel is exactly how Anna had always imagined it in each one of her dreams. Big enough to accommodate a fair few families, but not big enough to ensure that they will be run off their feet or unable to cope. With Helen being so little, John insists that he do the setting up work, but Anna manages to sneak away to help him when Helen is napping._

_Their first year isn't easy, but the business picks up after that, and then prospers; people speak highly of the Bateses, with their sweet little daughter and their eagerness to ensure that each and every person who visits their hotel is satisfied. The work in the day is hard; Anna finds all her years of service comes in handy as she makes up the rooms and cleans vigorously; John takes care of the numbers and customer service, occasionally slipping away to give her a hand when he can, reminiscent of the way he had done all those years before in Lady Edith's bedroom. Sometimes, they test that the sheets are satisfactory._

"_After all," Anna says as John nips at her neck, "we want the whole experience to be luxurious, don't we?"_

_They visit Downton several times in those years, meeting up with Mrs. Hughes and Lady Mary and his lordship. Helen and Master George become shy friends, and then good ones. It makes Anna smile to see it._

_The days pass. They make new memories away from Downton, filled with love and affection and laughter. Most days, Anna doesn't even think about Mr. Green, or about her ordeal. She is caught up with the contentment of her life, the joy of hearing Helen calling for her daddy, and John responding instantly to that call. She forgets with the plentiful moments of John and Helen sitting together, dark head and light head, bent low over some book as Helen reads stumblingly aloud. He doesn't exist when she and John lose themselves in each other, rolling hips and worshipping hands._

_Anna is not naïve. He will never fully be gone. There are times when she dreams of him again, and is overcome with terror. But he can't touch them out here. Not where there are no memories of him. He doesn't haunt their life. Not any longer._

* * *

They say their goodbyes reluctantly, Mrs. Hughes and Anna sharing a long embrace. Mrs. Hughes kisses her cheek and then drops kisses into Helen's blonde hair, murmuring little endearments. Helen's lip wobbles as she gently pulls away, moving to hide her face against her father's trousers. John gives the ex-housekeeper an affectionate hug too, then they wave for a final time, making the return journey to the train station. Helen is melancholy for most of the journey, but cheers up just a little at thought of seeing her cat again. She walks a few paces in front of them, and Anna and John follow, their own hands loosely joined. Anna is quiet and contemplative as they walk, weighing up the question that's been playing on her mind for the last few days. John evidently senses this, for he turns towards her and nudges her gently.

"All right," he says softly. "What's bothering you?"

She sighs, reluctantly meeting his eyes. "John, can I ask you a question?"

"Of course you can. Anything, you know that."

She nods, taking a moment to compose herself. And then she speaks.

"John, if you ever got the opportunity to find out the truth for certain, would you?"

John pauses her in the road. "What's brought this on?"

She shrugs helplessly. "I'm not sure. I don't think about…_him_ most days, not anymore, but I suppose it's just being back here. And with Helen asking those questions…I just wondered. Would you?"

They start moving again to keep up with their daughter, and she can tell that John is mulling over the question; his eyes have taken on that slightly misty, faraway look.

"Well," he says slowly, "it might be a tempting preposition, but at the end of the day, I'd decline."

"You would?" Anna's heart begins to beat hard in her chest.

"Yes, I would. Why would I want to potentially destroy the beauty when we have so much wonder now? Perhaps she isn't mine. It isn't for me to say. But she's so wonderful, and I'm blessed to have her in my life. To have _both_ of you. And I'd rather things stay as they are now than destroy it all with hurt and disappointment."

They both stay silent for a long moment after his speech, keeping their eyes on each other. Anna is the one to break it first, slipping her arms around him and pressing herself against his front, muffling her voice against his chest. "I love you."

"Mummy, Daddy! What are you doing?"

They break apart to find Helen standing there with her hands on her hips. The sun is behind her, making her glow. Anna in miniature, with dark eyes that might be his or might be Green's. They laugh at her indignation and, joining hands again, make their way towards their ray of sunlight.

* * *

**A/N:** I hope this was to your satisfaction. Thank you all once again. Now it's time to prepare for what series four has in store for us...


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